“That warrior’s a great fighter!” exclaimed Buffalo Bill, as he saw a Snake Indian, evidently a chief, dismounted and fighting hand to hand with five or six of the enemy—only falling when struck from behind with a tomahawk after he had slain three of his foes.
It was the last of the leader of the Snakes, and soon after he fell the sole survivor of the Snake braves drove his own knife home to his heart rather than let a Ute do it.
Then the fierce yells of victory rose louder than ever from the throats of the victorious Utes.
But suddenly these were hushed.
For Bear Killer and his warriors—his brother had been slain in the battle—saw the troops drawn up in line on the hill, their arms and accouterments glittering in the noonday sun, and the scouts, under Buffalo Bill, on their flank.
It looked as if another battle was going to be fought, with fresh and well-armed soldiers against braves who were tired with a long and bloody fight, and most of them wounded in addition.
“Now’s the time to wipe them out, captain!” cried Wild Bill, eager to dash forward.
“I’d like to see whether we can’t get them to give up the girls without a fight first,” said Buffalo Bill. “If they saw that there was no chance they would be sure to kill them.”
“My orders are to save the captives, if I can,” said the captain. “That is the first consideration.”
“Then let me try a palaver with the Ute chief,” suggested Buffalo Bill.