“All ready.”
There was a moment’s silence; then Crockett’s rifle rang out. One of the ponies leaped up with a snort; Jed Curley’s piece cracked instantly and the red rascal behind it lay silent in the grass.
Quickly the two men reloaded; again Crockett fired; once more a wounded mustang uncovered its master; a second time the sharp-shooter’s rifle spoke, and the master lay as silent as the other.
Within twenty minutes this performance had been gone through three times; then a panic seemed to strike the savages; they leaped up, urged their horses to their feet, mounted and turned to flee.
“A volley, boys!” yelled Crockett. “Take good aim.”
The volley pealed from the six rifles that were still loaded, and four more of the Comanches fell. Then the remainder of the band, with startled yells, went flying toward the east.
CHAPTER XI
THE BUFFALO HUNT
Rapidly reloading, the little party of whites stood upon the verge of the grove and watched the band of redskins race away across the plains.
“From the looks of things,” said old Dolph, “I’d say they’ll not be back this way.”
Crockett shook his head and laughed.