The captain scuttled for the rear. He did not get far. The lieutenant called.
"Off to the left, Cap! Right off to the left! Quick!"
Another Indian was there in the favorite position, scarcely three yards from the driver, and aiming his arrow. The captain sprang for the front, leveled his revolver—it was empty! So:
"Hey! Bang!" he shouted.
Ha, ha! Down lay the Indian, low upon his pony's neck; he hammered hard with his heels and away he scoured.
The captain sprawled for the rear once more, and tried to load. How those mules ran! How the lieutenant yelled and whipped! How that wagon jolted! And his powder spilled when he poured it into his old-style cap-and-ball pistol.
He had not succeeded in loading a single chamber when the lieutenant again called. He was constantly in trouble, poor Lieutenant Hallowell. The Indians knew that he couldn't shoot.
"Off to the left, Cap! Hurry!"
Still another Indian, making ready; occupying the same old spot. The captain hurried; leveled the revolver; shouted "Bang!"
But the trick did not work. This Indian was wiser. He only grinned and notched his arrow, and took his time for a sure shot. Something had to be done to get rid of him. Angry clear through, the captain leaned as far as he dared and hurled the revolver. Good! The heavy barrel landed full upon the Indian's ribs, cut a long gash—and much astonished the Indian veered off for repairs.