"Never mind Lizzie. Let's get ourselves out of here, first."
"All right, Cap," replied Lieutenant Hallowell, briskly. "You do the shooting and I'll do the driving."
He snatched the whip, slipped from his seat to the very front end of the box; and letting the lines lie lax began to lash and yell. The mules bolted free, twitching the wagon over the ruts.
Captain Booth sprawled inside; grabbed the lieutenant's one navy revolver, and with his own two tumbled over the seat and dived to the pucker-hole at the rear end, to fight the Indians off.
There were thirty-four of them, racing on up the road at top speed.
"How far now, Cap?" called the lieutenant, while he yelled and lashed.
"Still coming fast, and getting closer."
"Yip! Yip! Gwan with you!" Pretty soon—
"How far now, Cap?" The lieutenant could see nothing, behind, and the Indians had not uttered a sound.
"Still coming. 'Most within shooting distance."