With Hoops of Steel

by Florence Finch Kelly

He went down on the ground cross-legged and swabbed his gun-barrel while the bullets pattered on the ground about him and thudded into the trees and ploughed up the dirt at his feet. Nick bent his rifle on the sheriff and sent a bullet through his hat brim and another through his horse’s ear, and bit his bridle with one and tore his trouser leg with another. One dropped and stung on the beast’s fetlock as Tom sprang to his feet exclaiming, “Now I’ll get him!”

Daniels first checked his horse, and then lost control of it as the bridle broke, and when the bullet struck its fetlock it wheeled and went flying to the rear. The sheriff felt a tingle in his left arm, and, maddened, he seized the severed parts of his bridle and forced the horse to face about. Then he bent forward, apparently taking careful aim at one of the figures beneath the trees, but before he could fire, his horse reared and plunged and went down in a heap beneath him.

In the meantime, Nick, Emerson, and Judge Harlin were exchanging rapid shots with the rest of the sheriff’s party. Those of the latter went rather wild, because their frightened horses made it impossible for them to take careful aim. And also by reason of the constant dancing about of the beasts, the accurate markmanship of the men under the trees was not of much avail. Nick found that his magazine was empty and called out:

“Tom, give me some of your hulls! I used up all mine keepin’ your darned sheriff back. Gimme some hulls quick!”

He dropped a handful of cartridges into the magazine and raised his rifle with the remark, “Now see ’em scatter!”

The sharp, crashing din of the Winchesters kept steadily on. One of the Daniels party fell over on his horse’s neck, and two of their animals became unmanageable. Daniels had knelt behind his fallen horse and across its body he was taking careful aim. Tom felt a bullet graze his cheek, and saw whence it had come. “I’ll put a stop to that,” he exclaimed, and in another moment the sheriff tumbled over with a bullet in his shoulder. Mead felt a sharp pain in one side, and knew that hot lead had kissed his flesh. It was the first wound he had ever received. With a scream of pain a horse fell, struggling, beneath its rider. From one man’s hands the rifle dropped and his right arm hung helpless by his side. Another horseman swayed in his saddle and fell to the ground, and his horse galloped to the rear, dragging the man part of the way with his foot in the stirrup.

Still the remnant of horsemen held their own against the steady rain of bullets from the trees. Presently a flesh wound made Halliday’s horse unmanageable and it bolted straight for the grove. The four men paused with fingers on triggers, looking at him in wonder.

“Who would have thought he had the sand to do that!” Mead exclaimed.

Suddenly his horse turned and flew toward the rear. “Whoo-oo-oo-ee!” came a derisive shout from the grove, followed by a volley of bullets. The other horsemen took advantage of the diverted firing, and made a dash forward, dropping their rifles across their saddles and using their revolvers. It was evident that they hoped, by this sudden charge, to dislodge the enemy and force a retreat.

“Out and at ’em, boys,” yelled Nick. “Whoo-oo-oo-ee!” And the four men rushed from under cover of the trees, rifles in hand, straight toward the approaching horsemen.