Their horses were in the timber with their comrades, but they were armed with rifles, and having failed to get a close shot at the pony rider they sought to bring him down at long range.
The bullets pattered under the hoofs of the flying pony, but he was unhurt, and his rider pressed him to his full speed.
With set teeth, flashing eyes, and determined to do or die, Will Cody rode on in the race for life, the Indians on foot running swiftly toward him and the mounted braves sweeping down the valley at full speed.
The shots of the two dismounted Indians failing to bring down the flying pony, or their human game, the mounted redskins saw that their only chance was to overtake their prey by their speed.
One of the number, whose war-bonnet showed that he was a chief, rode a horse that was much faster than the others, and he drew quickly ahead.
Below, the valley narrowed to a pass not a hundred yards in width, and if the pony rider could get to this well ahead of his pursuers he would be able to hold his own along the trail in the 10-mile run to the next relay station.
But though he saw that there was no more to fear from the two dismounted redskins, and that he would come out well in advance of the band on horseback, there was one who was most dangerous.
That one was the chief, whose fleet horse was bringing him on at a terrible pace, and threatening to reach there almost at the same time with the pony rider.
Nearer and nearer the two drew toward the path, the horse of Will Cody slightly ahead, and the young rider knew that a death struggle was at hand.
He did not check his horse, but kept his eyes alternately upon the pass and the chief.