It was inevitable that this tumult should become known to the captors of Tim Brophy. Young Starr expected it, and therefore was not surprised when he saw the figures of several warriors at the base of the ridge. He could not forbear swinging his Winchester over his head and taunting them. They replied with several shots, but the distance was too great for Warren to feel any alarm. He, too, discharged his gun at the group, and acted as if he meant to challenge them to come out and attack him.
If such were his intentions, the challenge was accepted. Several warriors ran out on the prairie, calling to their ponies, in order that they might mount and take up the pursuit. Their action caused the youth no alarm, for the test of speed had already been made, and he feared none of the Indian animals.
The latter may have been under good discipline when their masters were astride of them, but they showed anything but obedience now that they were free from their control. They kept trotting about in circles, and avoided the warriors with a persistency that must have been exasperating to them.
Only one displayed consideration for his master. He was among the fleetest, and after some coy dallying he stood still until the athletic Sioux came beside him. He vaulted upon his back, and then accepted the seeming challenge of the youth.
The latter had checked his steed at a safe distance on the snowy plain, and confronted the Indian party. Looking beyond the warrior nearest him, he strove to catch sight of Tim Brophy; but he was too far off, and the trees interfered with his vision. Before he could continue the scrutiny long, the mounted Sioux demanded his attention.
Prudence would have suggested that now, since young Starr was well mounted, he should take no chances, but scurry away at the top of his speed, leaving the discomfited warrior to nurse his chagrin over the clever trick played upon him.
But the young rancher saw no reason why he should flee from a single buck, no better mounted or armed than himself. He had had enough experience in the Northwest to understand those people well, and thought he knew how to take care of himself. No, he would fight him; and now opened a most extraordinary prairie duel between Warren Starr and his dusky enemy.
The youth glanced at his Winchester, and saw that it was all right, as was the case with his revolver. His saddle was firmly cinched in place, Jack was at his best, and what cared he for a single Indian, even though he was a warrior that had taken the scalp of more than one unoffending pioneer!
Jack stood as motionless as a statue, with his nose toward his enemy. A gentle wind blowing across the prairie lifted his luxuriant mane slightly from his neck and swung his heavy tail to one side. His head was high, and the nostrils seemed to breathe defiance to the dusky foe, who approached at a swinging gallop, as though he meant to ride down the animal and rider.
But he held no such intention. The Sioux required no one to tell him that that stationary figure, sitting so firmly in his saddle, meant to fight.