Mustang Max was not exceedingly terrified, and his men borrowed their deportment from him.
Cool and steady as old Indian fighters they knelt behind the wagons, rifles cocked and fingers on triggers, ready at the word of command to hurl death among the on-coming foe.
Mustang Max waited long.
He knew the abilities of the men under him, and he would risk no such things as long shots, for he wanted every bullet to tell.
Therefore the yelling horde galloped up to within two hundred yards of the wagons before the command rang out:
“Fire!”
Crash!
With a combined roar the rifles of the kneeling defenders rang out.
A chorus of shrieks, ringing high and clear above the savage yells in intense agony, followed closely upon the heels of the discharge.
Horses leaped fairly into the air, and then dropped dead.