“A white bow, by gosh!” echoed Garey.
“A white bow!” shouted several others, eyeing the object with looks of astonishment and alarm.
“That belonged to a big warrior, I’ll sartify,” said Garey.
“Ay,” added another, “an’ one that’ll ride back for it as soon as—holies! look yonder! he’s coming by—!”
Our eyes rolled over the prairie together, eastward, as the speaker pointed. An object was just visible low down on the horizon, like a moving blazing star. It was not that. At a glance we all knew what it was. It was a helmet, flashing under the sunbeam, as it rose and fell to the measured gallop of a horse.
“To the willows, men! to the willows!” shouted Seguin. “Drop the bow! Leave it where it was. To your horses! Lead them! Crouch! crouch!”
We all ran to our horses, and, seizing the bridles, half-led, half-dragged them within the willow thicket. We leaped into our saddles, so as to be ready for any emergency, and sat peering through the leaves that screened us.
“Shall we fire as he comes up, captain?” asked one of the men.
“No.”
“We kin take him nicely, just as he stoops for the bow.”