"Five hundred yards, Charley?" his father asked quietly.
"A little over, papa; nearly six, I should say."
Mr. Hardy waited another ten seconds, and then his rifle cracked; and a yell of astonishment and rage broke from the Indians, as one of their chiefs, conspicuous from an old dragoon helmet, taken probably in some skirmish with the soldiers, fell from his horse.
"Hurrah!" Charley cried. "Shall we fire now, papa?"
"No, Charley," Mr. Hardy said as he reloaded his rifle; "wait till they are four hundred yards off, then fire slowly. Count ten between each shot, and take as steady an aim as possible. Now! Well done, two more of the scoundrels down. Steady, Hubert, you missed that time: there, that's better."
The Indians yelled with rage and astonishment as man after man dropped before the steady and, to them, mysterious fire which was kept up upon them. Still they did not abate the rapidity of their charge.
"Done, papa," Charley said as the two boys simultaneously fired their last shot, when the leading Indians were about two hundred and fifty yards distant.
"Change your chambers and mount," Mr. Hardy said as he again took aim with his rifle.
The enemy was not more than a hundred and fifty yards distant, when they leaped into their saddles and started at a gallop.
"Steady, boys, keep your horses well in hand. Never mind their balls; they could no more hit a man at this distance from the back of a horse than they could fly. There is no chance of their catching us; there won't be many horses faster than ours, and ours are a good deal fresher. Keep a good lookout for holes."