“Twenty-six,” said the giant, “and I’ve got seven more—thirty-three in all. If there ain’t any of ’em wasted, we can shoot jist thirty-three Injuns without stopping to load! Now git on yer horses and stick yer pistols in yer belts and hold yer rifles ready for instant use. I want to take one more look-out, and I’ll be with ye in a minit.”
The big hunter’s prompt manner and cool, baffling way of talking had inspired the three men with the utmost confidence in himself and his power to bring their enterprise to a successful termination, and they obeyed his orders implicitly. In a moment they were mounted, their unerring rifles ready for use at a moment’s warning.
“Are we going to dash into the encampment?” asked Clancy, examining the lock of his revolver.
“It looks like it,” answered the scout, sententiously.
“What can the accident be?” questioned Darke.
“That’s a riddle!” said Wimple.
“And a hard one to guess!” added the young hunter.
Just then the giant came running through the chapparal, and hastily seizing his ride, which he had left standing against a tree, threw himself upon the back of his horse and rode to the head of the little band of wondering, anxious men.
“Wait a minit!” he half whispered.
There was a moment of dead silence, the four men almost holding their breath in their suspense.