One of the horses stumbled. The Indians with muttered exclamations flung up their guns. Ambrose thought it was all over.
But at that moment by the grace of God, one of the troopers made a good joke, and a hearty laugh rang along the line. The Indians lowered their guns and stared with bulging eyes. They could not fight supermen like these.
Watusk, with the groan of total collapse, dropped his gun on the ground, and turned to escape by the path out of the pit.
Instantly there was pandemonium in the narrow place. Some tried to escape with their leader; others blocked the way. Ambrose saw Watusk seized and flung on the ground. One spat in his face. He lay where he had fallen.
Thus ended the Kakisa rebellion. The Indians had no further thought of resistance. The butts of their guns dropped to the ground, and they stared at the oncoming troopers with characteristic apathy.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
ANOTHER CHANGE OF JAILERS.
The police advanced to within twenty-five yards and, drawing closer together, halted.
"Watusk, come out of that!" barked the inspector in his parade ground voice.
Ambrose had his first look at him. He was a little man, trigly built, with a bullet head under a closely cropped thatch of white. A heavy white mustache bisected his florid face.