“They stand a slim chance of recovering the horses.”
“I was not well at the time the attack was made,” and if it had been light a blush would have been seen on Pedro’s cheek. “How many did they number?
“About thirty, I believe,” Simpson said.
“Six to one—hum! Well, the odds are certainly against them. If we were only out of this hole now, we might ride to their assistance.”
“And leave the girl—the sweet, pretty lass?”
“Ah, that is a painful mystery—painful indeed. It quite astounds me.”
“Mr. Wheeler and Carpenter are well nigh crazy over it. It is lucky in one way that these cussed Apaches have been pestering us—they have kept their thoughts somewhat away from her. Poor Miss Kissie! Where has she gone?”
“Hark!”
A loud report came to their ears, and at the same time, though unseen by them, the working Indians, with a loud whoop, fled from the hill. A shriek of agony at the same time resounded from the roof, and a body dropped heavily with a hollow sound.
“By every hair of my head!” cried Duncan, “hear them rascals skedaddle!”