How long could his horse hold out? That was the question that most of all troubled the young pioneer. He realized how far and how fast his mount had already traveled that day, and grave fears for the animal’s endurance beset Joseph’s mind.
Once more he glanced behind him. The Indian was gaining rapidly upon him. The spotted pony was evidently very fleet and the distance between the two racers was rapidly diminishing. Joseph’s heart sank at the sight. He was tempted to turn and fire at his pursuer now. Nearly a hundred yards still separated them, however, and Joseph knew only too well that any chance of success at that distance was very slight. Dangerous as it was he decided to save his ammunition and run the risk of still being alive when a better opportunity should present itself.
On they sped, the horses’ hoofs beating a sharp tattoo on the hard ground of the sunbaked prairie. The brush seemed to interfere with his horse’s progress while the spotted pony which his pursuer rode ran easily and apparently was unhampered by any obstructions. “What a pony that is,” thought Joseph. “If we could only trade mounts he’d never catch me. I could laugh at him and simply run away as I pleased.”
A quick look about him showed Joseph that now scarcely more than fifty yards was between him and his enemy. “Why doesn’t he shoot?” exclaimed the young volunteer out loud. “If he’d only fire and miss me I could stop and shoot him down before he has a chance to reload.”
As if following Joseph’s suggestion the Indian suddenly raised his gun and fired. The fleeing boy was crouching so low that he seemed almost a part of his horse’s back. As he saw the redskin lift his gun to take aim he flattened himself out still further and held his breath as he waited for the result of the shot.
At last the time had come which was to decide his fate. As the sharp bark of the Indian’s rifle sounded over the prairie Joseph felt a burning sensation in the fleshy part of his shoulder. He was wounded. It was his left shoulder, however, and so excited was the young volunteer that he scarcely felt the pain of the wound. He quickly stopped his horse and straightening up in the saddle lifted his gun to his shoulder.
The Indian seeing that he was tricked tried desperately to turn his pony. At the same time he hurled his tomahawk, but the distance was too great and it fell short of its mark. Joseph pulled the trigger and immediately the Indian threw up his hands. For a moment he struggled convulsively to keep his seat, but it was of no avail. He fell to the ground, dead, a bullet through his temple.
Joseph was stunned for a moment, and then, realizing that he was safe once more, a great wave of joy swept over him. He felt no remorse at having killed this man, for by doing so his own life had been saved. Perhaps, too, this Indian was one of those who had massacred his family. The young volunteer dismounted and drew near to his fallen foe.
The young Indian was lying face down upon the ground. Joseph rolled him over and noticed at his belt two freshly taken scalps. Suddenly a great wave of horror rushed over the young frontiersman as he looked. One of the scalps at the Indian’s belt was bright red.