“Ay: we can’t both miss him.”
Hastily throwing up the wagon-cover, they took a quick aim and fired. However, the wily savage saw the movement, and slipping behind his mustang, eluded the bullets, which, close together, whistled through the air where his body had been but a moment before. A shrill yell of derision came from his lips as he peered over the steed’s back at the foiled scouts. Jack swore roundly.
Sam had also fired at a tall savage, but had been foiled in the same manner. The ones in the other wagon, however, had succeeded in bringing one dusky devil to the dust. Now they were exactly equal.
They durst not peep from the wagons lest they might prove a good mark for an Apache rifle. However, Simpson soon bethought himself of a simple plan by which they might easily reduce their enemies’ number. Drawing his knife he cut a slit in the canvas wagon-cover, then two more for his companions; then called out to the occupants of the other wagon to do the same. Now they could protrude their rifles, and with a good aim and a simultaneous volley might lessen their enemies by one-half.
The plan would have been successful had not the chief suddenly suspected something. Making a signal, he began to move away. However, he was a little too dilatory. Just as he was getting into long rifle-range, the guide and his companions discharged their pieces, the others doing the same at the other band.
One bullet whistled by the renegade’s head and lodged in that of a short, malicious warrior who rolled from his horse, dead. Anther struck Red-Knife in the leg, they could tell, as he twitched it suddenly, then clapped his hand upon it. A yell from the other band caused them to look toward it. A gaunt, tall savage started up in his saddle, gazed wildly round for a moment, then his mustang galloped away, riderless; two savages the less.
It was now high noon, and the sun’s rays poured down like molten lead on the white covers of the wagons. Outside, the horses, who were unharmed, (the Indians having thought to secure them alive) protruded their tongues and nickered low and pleadingly for a taste of the water-butt. The men, too, mauger the warm and tepid water, were suffering with the intense heat. The very air seemed as if a hurricane from a baker’s oven was brewing. The wood-work was blistered and parched; and still the sun shone redly, still the men sweltered and watched, still the savages, drawn up in line, watched the wagons under the knoll.
The day wore on. Vultures wheeled above, now drawn hither by the sounds of strife; coyotes skulked and sniffed the air at a safe distance; and still the sun shone down hotly upon the two hostile bands.
Suddenly the savages rode back to their former position, and clustering together, gesticulated energetically. The whites could not hear, but knew they were engaged in a discussion.
Only a few moments they talked and gestured, then they turned their mustangs’ heads to the south-west.