Indian nature was not equal to facing the deadly hail of iron and lead, and the red wave broke against the stockade and receded, leaving many still and writhing bodies in the ditches which surrounded the fort, and scattered upon the plain. Slowly at first the redskins surged backward under the galling fire of the whites but finally the retreat became a stampede.
The rout was complete. All but the dead and badly wounded escaped swiftly out of rifle-shot, save one mounted chief. He was left alone, struggling with his mount, trying to force the animal to leave the vicinity of the fort gate.
This was Oak Heart himself, the king of the Sioux, and his mount was a great white cavalry charger that he had captured months before. This was no half-wild Indian pony; yet the Indian chief, without spurs and a proper bridle, could not control the beast. The horse had heard the bugle to which he had been so long used. He was determined in his equine mind to rejoin the white men who had been his friends, instead of these cruel red masters, and he made a dash for the gate of the fortress.
In vain did Chief Oak Heart try to check him. He would have flung himself from the horse’s back, but the creature was so swift of foot and the ground was so broken here, that such an act would have assured Oak Heart’s instant death. Besides, being the great chief of his tribe, Oak Heart had bound himself to the horse that, if wounded or killed, he would not be lost to his people which—according to Indian belief—would be shame.
Oak Heart had lost his scalping-knife, and could not cut the rawhide lariat that held him fast. He writhed, yelling maledictions in Sioux upon the horse; but he could neither check the brute nor unfasten the lariat.
His warriors soon saw Chief Oak Heart’s predicament, and they charged back to his rescue. The White Antelope led them on, for she was as brave as her father.
Buffalo Bill had been first to see the difficulty into which the chief had gotten himself, and springing down from the platform he threw himself into the saddle, shouted for the gates to be opened, and spurred his horse out of the fort.
“Don’t shoot the girl!” the scout yelled to the soldiers lining the walls above him. “Have a care for the girl!”
But there was scarcely chance for the whites to fire at all at the oncoming White Antelope and her party, before Buffalo Bill was beside the big white charger and the struggling king of the Sioux.
Out flashed the scout’s pistol, and he presented it to the red man’s head.