"Where's that flag," he exclaimed, "give it to me, quick!"
In less time than it takes to tell it, Guy had grasped the emblem and was waving to the watching sentries on the palisades what was going on a mile from them, but which was shut out from their view by the ridge:—
"About one hundred Indians going to attack the train."
Then he threw the flag down and waited with all the fortitude he could command for some response to the signal. A moment afterward it came. One of the mountain howitzers belched forth its contents, the shell whizzed by so close to them that it seemed as if they could touch it, and exploded in the air right in line for the Sioux, but a good way above them. Another and another followed, but their firing was entirely too wild to do any damage. Guy was on nettles.
"They will never hit the Indians at that rate," he exclaimed. "Why don't they shoot lower?"
All the shells which came from the howitzers followed the same course, and then Guy, forgetting that he was an inferior and in no condition to offer advice, seized the flag again and signaled once more to the Fort.
"You are firing entirely too high. Shoot closer to the ground."
Whatever the commanding officer thought of his advice Guy never knew, but he thought it a good plan to follow these instructions. The next shell came lower and the next one lower yet, and then Guy raised the flag once more.
"That is all right. You stand a chance of hitting them now."
"Oh, don't I wish that I was down there with my Winchester!" said Guy, so excited that he could scarcely stand still. "By the way, do any of you see Winged Arrow?"