It was true that fifty Indians could do nothing against the strong body of troops stationed at the fort, but, if they succeeded in killing him, they would certainly not ride on for that place.
They would wait until reënforced by a much stronger party, and then perhaps carry the fort by surprise if the garrison had not received a timely warning.
Wild Bill realized these facts, and resolved that he must curb his natural propensity to fight, and run away instead—a thing he always hated to do, however great might be the number of the enemies opposed to him.
While he was engaged in shooting their leader, the other Indians had gained upon him, and they sent several shots whizzing after him as he resumed his flight. Now and then he turned in the saddle and returned their fire, shooting two of the foremost horses as they drew near him.
“Buffler Bill would shoot the blamed varmints through the head if he was here,” muttered the scout, “but I’m not sure as how I could do that with a snap aim at a gallop. Anyhow, I can’t run the risk, so I’ll shoot the durned cayuses instead.”
The redskins kept up the pursuit until they were within about three miles of the fort. One of the outposts saw them chasing the scout over the prairie and promptly gave the alarm, for a vigilant watch was being maintained at that critical time.
As Wild Bill rode up, several of the soldiers mounted in hot haste and rode to his rescue. The Indians saw this, and promptly turned on their trail to ride back as quickly as they had come.
A lieutenant, with thirty or forty men behind him, galloped in pursuit, while Wild Bill rode into the fort to make his report to the commandant.