Suddenly Jack snapped open his magazine. “Here they come!” he whispered. Alex scrambled about beside him. Wilson thrust the pistol-barrels through the loop-hole.
WITH THE BOYS’ PRISONER SECURELY BOUND TO THE SADDLE
OF THE WANDERING HORSE, THE INDIAN WAS OFF
ACROSS THE PLAIN.
From the dark line of the cars rose a shouted command, there came a ripping volley of a dozen Colts, and a dim group of figures rushed toward them.
“Now, steady!” warned Alex. “And shoot low!
“Fire!”
“Crash!” went the Winchesters, “Crack, crack, crack!” the pistols.
Two of the leading runners went to their hands and knees. The others rushed on, shouting and spitting flames.