It was a time when seconds counted. Half a minute brought the scout in the position he had settled upon, and he pulled Bear Paw to a sharp halt. He was between the rancher and the moving dust cloud—the cloud from whose forward edge pushed the foam-flecked nostrils and the wide horns of the charging leaders.
Turning half around in his saddle so as to face the steer, the scout lifted the gun from the saddle horn.
Could quick work with the rifle save Perry, or would that rushing tide of steers overwhelm Buffalo Bill and the unfortunate cattle baron?
Even as this momentous problem flashed through the scout’s brain the rifle was at his shoulder.
Sping!
The hoarse roar of the gun echoed suddenly against the background of noise caused by the steers.
One of the animals pitched forward.
Swiftly the scout worked the breech mechanism and forced a fresh cartridge into place.
Sping!
Another steer went down.