Frank kept his seat on the box, and with the most lively delight watched the battle before his eyes.
Ah, it was a grand sight to watch those contending blades and weapons rising and falling, flashing and clashing in the lurid glare, and the blood went like some mountain torrent through every vein as he gazed upon the swaying and writhing forms of the deadly foes thus engaged in mortal strife.
The light glancing over the bright parts of his mailed suit made him a prominent mark, as Frank well knew.
Ping, ping!
Two bullets spatted up against his breast, and then fell flattened, from the armor to the ground.
Frank shuddered.
“Without my suit I’d have been a goner that time,” he muttered. “I wonder if I was aimed at?”
He looked at the wildly struggling horde of men before him.
He caught a glimpse of several wicked eyes.
They gleamed out of white faces, and the boy knew that they were more to be feared than his Indian foes.