Dick dropped down from the top of the palisades on the heels of Malemute Slade, Sandy and Toma following him. Suddenly he heard Sandy cry out:
“Help, Dick!”
Dick turned and ran toward the sound, his rifle clubbed in his hands. In the gloom he could see Sandy struggling in the grip of a brawny half-breed, Dick’s gun stock swept down, and Sandy’s adversary rolled over and lay still.
“Come on, Sandy. Let’s not lose Malemute,” Dick called.
They could see the policemen concentrating their attack on the door of the post residence, which had been hastily barricaded.
“Up an’ at ’em,” Malemute bellowed as he rushed to join the mounted police. Three half-breeds leaped out of the shadows and barred the big scout’s way. Malemute fired once, swung his fists twice, and the half-breeds were trampled underfoot.
The surprise attack was over as quickly as it had begun. Dick and Sandy saw a huge, long-haired man come to the door in answer to the sergeant’s demand for surrender, and watched the handcuffs snapped upon the outlaw’s wrists. It was the first look at the man behind all the trouble. Henderson’s name fitted him, they decided. He looked much like a grizzly in man’s clothing.
“That wasn’t half a fight,” Malemute Slade complained. “Now if that pesky spy would show up we’d skip out for the prisoner.”
“There he is!” Dick exclaimed.
The Indian spy and Toma both were approaching at a run.