But, although the immediate captor of the girl had fallen, she had no time to urge the pony to one side and thus escape. Buffalo Bill saw his mistake in a moment. With a wild yell Boyd Bennett spurred to the side of the horse which White Antelope sat, and threatened her with drawn bowie as the whole cavalcade shot down the river trail and put a brush-clump between them and the scout’s rifle. When they appeared again they were out of rifle-shot.
“Seven of them left,” muttered Buffalo Bill. “I thought I had that devil that time. But let him wait—let him wait!”
He mounted Chief once more and rode for a time in the wake of the bandits. But, fearing that some of them might slip off their horses and lay in wait for him, he turned aside into the hilly country and so saw the refugees only occasionally from the summits of certain hills which he climbed. He kept them from resting, however, during the forenoon. By midday the desperadoes’ ponies were completely worn out.
Had they not been so fearful of the scout the seven men might have shown fight. They were equally well armed with Buffalo Bill, and some of them were good shots. But Boyd Bennett thought only of escape with the girl, and his mates were in a blue funk, anyway.
They came at noon to a deserted Indian encampment. It was a hunting-camp, the braves evidently being out in the hills after game and having left nobody but the squaws on guard. The squaws had gone into the bush after late berries. Therefore, there was none to balk the bandits.
There were no ponies, or the men would have left their fagged mounts and stolen those of the red men. But in the river lay two good-sized canoes. Abandoning their ponies the outlaws seized these boats, forced White Antelope into the leading one with Boyd Bennett and two others, and the four remaining men entering the other boat, both were pushed off and paddled down the stream.
Cody beheld this move from a hilltop, and immediately rode down to the river. Had he crossed the paths of any of the Indians—they were not Sioux, but he knew the tribe—he might have obtained their help. Alone, however, he came to the river-bank. The canoes were far out in the stream and going down rapidly with the current and the force of the paddles. The scout saw the White Antelope on her knees in the forward boat, her arms stretched out to him. Her mute gesture for help spurred him on to a desperate attempt!
Chief had come far now without much rest, but he was able to make one more spurt. Down the river path the scout thundered, racing to catch up with the canoes. There was a high bluff across the river, offering no landing-place. On this side the bank was low. Even if the canoes were paddled near the opposite shore, the scout’s rifle would carry a deadly ball that distance. In coming near, and into sight, however, he gave the bandits a chance to try their marksmanship upon him.
But this risk the brave scout took. For the White Antelope’s sake he was venturing his life.
He forced Chief to top speed until the brave old horse came out upon a cleared space just ahead of the two canoes. The bandits began to pop at him with their rifles; but shooting from a sitting position in a trumpery little canoe was no easy job.