His hand pointed toward the spot where Madeiras lay. Bang, bang, bang, came the sound of the Basque’s gun.
“There are many,” Johnny paused to say cautiously before his hand moved onward. Was there any one else up there to answer him—Scanlon, Doc, Kelsey? God help him if there was not. An eternity passed for the boy as his hand started again and moved a foot without receiving an answer. Johnny knew that he was taking the supreme gamble of his life. Another few inches his hand moved, and then bang, bang, bang came the report of a gun.
“Good old Doc Ritter,” Johnny murmured to himself, thinking he recognized the sound of Doc’s heavy calibered weapon.
Johnny’s hand was sweeping along. Another series of shots rang out. A pause then until his hand pointed in the very direction in which Molly had gone. The next instant a fusillade of shots echoed in the basin. Over the crest came a band of men—twenty-five or thirty of them.
“It is Ames and the agent!” Johnny cried aloud. “Thank God!” The boy had no need to fear that his words had been overheard. The Indians were in a panic. Only old Thunder Bird sat unmoved.
Johnny ran toward the oncoming men, his hands raised as he shouted to them to put down their guns. By the time they met, Kelsey and Scanlon were running down to them. A minute more and Ritter and Madeiras appeared.
Ames had organized the party.
“What’s it all about, Johnny?” Ames asked. “I shore thought they wuz out to raise ha’r.”
“They just wanted Gallup. He’s treated the chief as though he was a water boy. When you hurt his dignity you’re hurtin’ somethin’.”
“Wal, you’d better untie Gallup,” Ames suggested. “He don’t look happy.”