He saw, indeed, the frightened maiden before him, flying madly from his approach; but his mind was laboring with thoughts which carried him back for many years—thoughts which had often embittered his mind and robbed him of his rest at night. He remembered this beautiful girl’s mother and how he would have saved her from her awful fate; yet that was not to be! And here he was pursuing the daughter—yet in a far different manner.
The girl looked back again. Her beautiful face had paled, losing all its naturally rich coloring. Although Buffalo Bill had held her in his power only the day before and had not harmed her, this wild child of the forest and plain saw no reason for his sparing her now. And, indeed, there was no apparent reason. She saw in his attempt to capture her instead of killing her outright, merely the desire of the warrior to parade a captive before his admiring brethren, and then, perhaps, she would be made a slave as the redskins made slaves of the white squaws they stole!
White Antelope had no reason for believing in the honor and tenderness of white men. She had been taught from childhood that they were her deadly enemies. Her mother had died too soon after her birth to instil into the maiden’s mind any different belief than that held by the savages about her.
So the girl looked back at Cody in terror, and made up her savage mind to die rather than be captured by the scout.
But she would sell her life dearly as may be. The day before Long Hair, as she called him, had disarmed her of the light revolver which had been a most precious possession. Now she had only her bow and arrows—a weapon that is not easily used in shooting behind one while the pony is at full speed.
But this was what the girl tried to do. She strung her bow and seized an arrow from the quiver which hung over her shoulder. Then, while the pony was still paddling along the trail at his best pace, she turned her agile young body about, drew the shaft to its head, and let drive at the coming scout.
He ducked as he saw her action; but the shaft went through his hat and carried it away. Instantly she fitted another arrow to the bowstring and sent it likewise at her enemy. Cody slipped over on the far side of Chief, hanging by toe and one hand to the running animal, an Indian trick that no brave could do better than the scout himself. The second shaft went over his saddle in about the place his heart might have been had he been sitting upright!
The Indian maiden was not to be balked so easily. She turned again to urge her pony on, hoping, it is likely, that Long Hair would bob up into the saddle again. But he saw she had a third arrow on the string, and he remained where he was.
But to tamely endure such a persecution as this was not the scout’s intention. Besides, he feared that the White Antelope might shoot Chief.
As he slung himself over the side of the big white horse, Cody had drawn one of the loaded pistols from its holster. With this gun he was a marvelously accurate shot. It had a barrel almost as long as the old-fashioned derringer, and in the hand of a trained marksman could do the execution of a finely sighted rifle.