Bucks ran back into the office and opening his wooden chest threw into it what he could of his effects and tried to drag it from the burning building out upon the platform. As he struggled with the unwieldy box, two men ran up from the train toward him, staring at him as if he had been a ghost. He recognized Stanley and Dancing.
“Are you hurt?” cried Stanley hastening to his side.
“No,” exclaimed Bucks, his head still swimming, “but everything will be burned.”
“How in the name of God, boy, have you escaped?” demanded Stanley, as he clenched Bucks’s shoulder in his hand. Dancing seized the cumbersome chest and dragged it out of danger. The Indians, jeering, as they retreated, at the railroad men, made no attempt to continue 157 the attack, but rode away content with the destruction of the train and the station.
Stanley, assured of Bucks’s safety, though he wasted no time in waiting for an explanation of it, directed the men to save what they could out of the station––it was too late to save the building––and hurried away to see to the unloading of the horses.
Bill Dancing succeeded in rescuing the telegraph instruments and with Bucks’s help he got the wires rigged upon a cracker-box outside where the operator could report the story to the now desperate despatcher. The scouts and troopers were already in the saddle and, leading the way for the men, gave chase across the bottoms to the Indians.
Bob Scott, riding past Bucks reined up for a moment. “Got pretty warm for you, Bucks––eh? How did you get through?”
Bucks jumped toward him. “Bob!” he exclaimed, grasping his arm. “It was Iron Hand.”
“Iron Hand!” echoed Bob, lifting his eyebrows. “Brulés, then. It will be a long chase. What did he say?”