A plan of attack, bold and daring, was quickly arranged.
“Jack Colton, you will take one-half of the men, and I’ll lead the others,” hurriedly commanded Hawksley. “You go to the right and gain the foot of the hill. Then when I give the signal, close in. But remember, the white man must be taken alive.”
Separating, the two parties rode up to the hill base, then dismounting, drew their revolvers, ready for work. At the signal they glided rapidly along, and soon reached the defile before a shot was fired.
Then ensued a scene of frightful confusion. It was not a fight that can be drawn in words, for each man fought on his own hook, singling out his foe with eyes for naught else.
Though brief, it was bloody in the extreme. For a few moments the Kiowas fought bravely, but then the rapid detonation of the white men’s revolvers proved too much for their courage, and the survivors fled up the hollow, only to encounter another foe.
Zeb Ruel and his two companions, Fenton and Morley, being out of sight of their comrades below, knew nothing of their movements until the sound of firearms, together with vengeful shouts and shrill cries, announced the commencement of the struggle. Divining the truth, they began descending the ridge side, in order to assist their comrades.
Though too late to take part in the struggle proper, the fleeing red-skins ran headlong against their weapons. Three rifle-cracks, and only two Kiowas remained, standing bewildered by this new and unexpected danger. Then, amidst a storm of revolver bullets, they tried to scale the steep hill, but ere half-way to its top, the last Kiowa flung aloft his arms, and rolled back to the base, dead.
Mestayer had fought bravely, but his time had come. Both Colton and Hawksley assailed him. Colton fell, with a bullet through his breast, but before the outlaw could do more, Hawksley was upon him.
In the desperate struggle that ensued, his wounds aided in giving the settler the victory, and ere the last reports echoed from up the valley, Mestayer was securely bound, a prisoner.
“Who is’t ye’ve got, Hawksley?” cried Zeb Ruel, coming up at this moment. “Hellow, Jap Morton, as I’m a sinner!”