"Maybe better go back now, eh?" he called.
"Oh, no; come on!" Al shouted back. "We can get out anywhere and we've got him on the run."
The scout said no more, but followed. They passed the ravine and the base of the next butte, and came to the gully between that and the fourth and last eminence to the south. From this eminence a little ridge ran eastward out across the open ground. As they came toward it an Indian rose half his height behind it, then, seeing them, dropped down again. Al ran to the left to get around behind him, and, as he did so, Wallace and the scout both saw another warrior, farther up on the fourth butte, stand erect and aim at him.
"Look out, Al!" shouted Wallace.
"Drop, Briscoe!" cried the guide at the same instant, and Al instinctively flung himself full length upon the ground just as the Indian fired. The bullet passed over him; but at this moment Wallace noticed still another hostile raise his head above the ridge and look eagerly toward Al. He had no time to interpret the glance, but the thought came to him that more Indians were showing themselves than he had expected, and he cried,
"Come on out, boys! They're getting too thick."
Followed by his companions, he sprang into the gully close at hand, expecting to see the valley beyond and the prairie ridge where the two Iowa soldiers were lying. But, instead, a few yards up the trench-like gulch he came to a sharp turn. As he rounded it, he caught a glimpse of several Indians crouching down a little farther on, their guns cocked and ready, and he dodged back again, almost colliding with Al and the scout, behind him.
"I guess we're goners," he exclaimed, as he heard the swift patter of moccasined feet behind and on the edges of the gully above them. "Oh, what an idiot I was to get you fellows and myself into this. It's my fault."