“Bully for Jose, then; he sure knows how to stand the Indians off!” exclaimed Frank; and for the time being Andy seemed to forget that just a minute or two back he had been declaring that the same Jose deserved the worst punishment the cow-punchers from the Double X Ranch could deal out to him, for he almost echoed the words of his chum.
“Good! good! he’s opened fire, too, for I can see the puff of smoke each time he pulls trigger. Oh! Frank!”
“Well, what now?” demanded the other, a little impatiently, as Andy paused after giving that last exclamation that might stand for almost anything.
“He hit one of the Indians that time, as sure as anything!” Andy declared, with a ring of delight in his voice.
“What makes you think so?” demanded Frank.
“Didn’t I see him turn a flop, though; and right now he’s holding his leg like fun! Guess he got a puncture in his tire, all right, Frank. After all, that Jose can shoot some, let me tell you. There, I do believe he’s gone and done it again!”
“What! hit another Indian, Andy?”
“Well, I c’n see a second fellow rolling over and over; and now he sits up and it looks like he’s examining his arm. Perhaps they’re beginning to learn that it ain’t all one sided after all, this stopping a mounted man, and trying some of the old tricks. Mebbe they’ll want to clear out now, Frank?”
“That wouldn’t be like Indian nature, from what they’ve been telling me since we came here,” Frank went on to say. “They’re all as obstinate as they make them; and the chances are, these fellows will just be more bent on shooting Jose up than ever, if, as you say, he’s already pinked a couple of their men.”
“Well, they don’t seem to be clearing out that I can notice, and that’s a fact,” Andy admitted immediately afterward. Frank could himself hear the reports of guns being discharged, and they came so thick and fast that he could almost imagine a battle was being fought between large numbers of enemies on either side. Evidently the Indians were flush with ammunition, and did not hesitate to use it plentifully. The White Father in Washington would supply them with plenty more when this was gone; or at any rate the hard cash with which to purchase the same. And they were just as prodigal in wasting cartridges as so many half-grown and irresponsible boys might have been.