“Yes, because now Jose seems to have become suddenly suspicious. There, I can see him jump off his pony, and he’s doing something with Becky. As sure as anything, Frank, I do believe he’s cutting the strap that’s held the child to the saddle. That looks like he expects trouble, don’t it?”
“I should say yes,” replied Frank, shortly.
“Hark! did you hear that?” suddenly demanded Andy.
“I thought I caught a faint sound like a shot,” replied the other.
“That was just what it was, Frank. I saw the smoke long before we got the crack of the gun.”
“Who fired?” demanded Frank.
“One of those concealed Indians; and there goes another, and yet a third shot! Oh! Frank what if they should hit poor little Becky, the half-drunken scamps, trying to believe these are the good old days when they chased white men across the plains. Just listen to the shots would you, Frank?”
Andy was fairly quivering with the nervous tension. What made it doubly hard was the fact that while he could see these exciting things so easily through the powerful lens of the glasses, yet they were still far away from the scene of action and unable to raise a hand as yet to render any assistance, should such be needed.
“What is Jose doing now?” asked Frank.
“Oh! one of the ponies seems to be down, and for the life of me I can’t tell you whether it was shot, or has laid down like some of those cow ponies are taught to do, Frank. There goes the other one the same way. And now Jose has pulled the little girl down with him. They’re out of sight behind the bodies of the ponies, I do believe, Frank!”