Of course this would mean safety for the savages, for the Steam Man could not hope to follow the ponies over the rough surfaces there encountered.
“Heavens, we are not going to save Pomp!” cried Frank, with a thrill of despair in his voice. “What shall we do, Barney? Is it not awful?”
Barney was busily engaged in placing fresh cartridges in his Winchester.
“Begorra, it’s save the naygur I will if I sacrifice me own loife!” cried the big-hearted Celt. “It’s me own fault, for sure, that he iver fell troo the door and got picked up by the red min.”
Frank put on all the steam he dared, and the man took tremendous strides forward.
“We will make a mighty effort,” he gritted, as he piled on the steam.
“Bejabers, here goes for wan av the spalpeens!” cried Barney.
Then the Irishman’s rifle cracked.
One of the savages tumbled from his pony’s back.
Barney continued to load and fire as fast as he could. But the opportunity was not long granted him.