My party consisted of twenty-eight of the best men connected with the train, amongst whom were Brighton Bill.
Some three miles along the side of the cañon we began to move in regular Indian fashion, singly and as quietly as we could, availing ourselves of every cover possible. Neither was this one whit too soon. As we crept over a small hill, we discovered, not more than six hundred yards from us, a party of red-skins. These were some fifty in number.
Luckily, perhaps, I had been the first of my party. Dropping as if I had been picked off by a bullet, I motioned my men to imitate me.
Then, placing my linger on my lips with a warning movement, we began crawling to the right, behind a number of huge rocks, and managed to advance to within some two hundred yards of them, without giving them the slightest alarm. The red devils were watching the movement of the train as, below them, it wound slowly up the cañon. More than probably, if they could count the number of boys we had left with it, they were congratulating themselves on the way, in which they must have supposed, they had thinned us out.
Raising my rifle I took deliberate aim, in which I was imitated by the rest of my party. Each of us had selected his own man.
The report of my weapon was followed simultaneously almost by the whole of those of my fellows, ringing out sharply and clearly.
As the smoke cleared away immediately after, we saw the whole of the Indians, who had not been slain, flying at the top of their speed across the mountain.
Twenty-three of them were on the ground, dying or dead, of which five were undoubtedly white men. Brighton Bill gazed upon the dead bodies reflectively.
"You're as good as an Injin, Mose!" he said. "But look 'ere. Wouldn't it 'ave been better to give 'em the lead, face to face."
"D' yer think the skulking beasts would ha' given yer a fair chance?"