“Are the women gone?” Herrick called softly.
“Yes,” replied Hard. “Are you all right?”
“So. They whistle through my hair but they do not touch me,” replied the musician, cheerfully.
“Here they come!” cried Scott, impatiently. “Watch your shots!”
The Indians were coming, and coming in a body.
“Gosh, it’s going to be all day with us in half a minute!” gasped Scott. “Let ’em have it as hard as you can, boys. We may be able to hold ’em long enough to give the women a chance to get the horses.”
Hard clenched his teeth and bent his eye on his rifle. In another moment the invaders would be upon them—when, sharp and decisive came the sound of shots; shots from among the foothills, followed by yells. There was a cry from the Indian who led the rush; a wavering of the line; and a stop. They broke into loud talk. In the meantime, the shots and yells continued. They seemed to come from two directions.
“There’s another crowd back in the hills. They’ve got another fight on their hands,” muttered Scott, listening. “It’s a flank attack and these fellows don’t like it.”
“If it is——”
“It is. Hear that!”