Both craft were overloaded, anyway. Two men were supposed to be the full complement of the cargo of each. So the craft rode low, and the least movement might tip them over. One man in the forward boat, and two in the latter, turned their attention to the scout and his white horse; but their bullets flew wide of the mark.
The scout, however, paid no more attention to the whistling lead than he would have to so many buzzing flies. He dismounted from Chief, and, standing out deliberately on the river-bank, raised his rifle and took aim at the leading paddler in the rear boat. He did not shoot at those with White Antelope in the other canoe. First he would reduce the numbers of the gang.
Crack!
The heavy rifle spoke no louder than a pistol across the flat surface of the water. With a yell the man dropped his paddle, turned a face all gory upon the scout, and then pitched out of the canoe!
Strangely enough he did not tip over the vessel. Another caught up his paddle. They tried to urge the craft to the foot of the steep bluff. But now the current had caught the light canoe in a fierce grip, and to swerve it was not easy.
Crack!
Just as a second man was drawing bead as well as he could upon the undaunted scout, the rifle dropped from his hands, and he fell backward into the bottom of the canoe. The craft dipped dangerously and all but went over. As it righted the scout fired a third time. Plunk the ball went through and through the body of the canoe!
The water began to run in at both holes, and the canoe sank. One of the remaining men, in complete panic, threw himself overboard and swam for the shore. The other continued to paddle desperately.
A double report sounded. The rifleman in the forward boat had stood up and taken a better aim at the scout. The latter’s shoulder was plowed just under the skin by the ball. But Cody’s own bullet sped straight to the desperate paddler in the second canoe, and the man fell sideways, shot through the lungs; the canoe tipped completely, and man and canoe went to the bottom together.
Meanwhile, the fourth man in that boat had reached the strand. It was a narrow beach and offered no shelter for him. He scrambled up the steep bluff like a crab making for its hole. But when he was half-way up, and his body against the yellow sand made an excellent target, the scout’s gun spoke again.