Frank and Charley, perched on their seats, guided the iron monsters, and took care to circumnavigate the dancing Irishman and the playing darkey.
In an instant the scene was changed; the dancing ceased; people scattered right and left; shouts shrieks and yells were heard from red and white, and the high old wedding festivities came to a sudden end.
The iron hoofs of the Steam Horse struck down a number of half-drunken fools who were too slow in getting out of the way, and the man fairly climbed over some stick-in-the-mud parties who stopped too long in his way.
It was the design of the parties supposed to be in command of the occupants of the wagons, namely Charley and Frank, to merely rescue the prisoners from their captors, and then dig away from the spot as lively as possible, it not being sensible to get up a rumpus when outnumbered ten to one.
This plan would have been adhered to but for the savage vindictiveness of Jared Dwight.
The avenger could not look upon his red foes without feeling all the vengeful blood in his body coursing hotly through his every vein, and then the one idea was sure to take possession of him, and that was to stab, shoot and kill.
He stood up with a brace of revolvers in his hands, and began to pop over the redskins like rabbits.
This brought an immediate change in the attitude of the somewhat startled reds.
When they heard the pistols popping, and saw many of their number dropping down lifeless, then they began to realize that this thing meant fight, and as they were drunk enough to run, so were they also drunk enough to fight.
Accordingly they turned, faced the foe, and popped back in return, and Frank’s hat flew off his head, carried away by a bullet.