With their leader dismounted, and apparently hurt, for Red Dick was seated beside his dead horse, the Indians hardly knew what to do, and, as they drew nearer and nearer to the mysterious scout, they gradually checked the speed of their horses, until the smaller party, consisting of a dozen braves, came to a halt, and with wondering eyes and wild gestures, seemed to be holding a council of war.
This was what Buffalo Bill had expected. As soon as the squadron halted, he wheeled Midnight, and, with the air ringing and echoing with his terrible war cries, and a revolver in each hand, he charged directly upon the astonished savages.
Then he added to their consternation by opening a brisk and telling fire upon them. It proved fatal in several instances. The frightened braves turned and fled, and, with the speed of an arrow, the scout rushed on toward the open prairie, having safely run the terrible gantlet.
Then, as the emigrants looked with eager eyes, they beheld the cause of the sudden movement of Buffalo Bill, for directly in his former path arose the forms of a dozen painted warriors, doubtless of the same band, who were hiding in a shallow gulch and would have sprung up in the pathway of the scout, had not his quick eye detected the plumed head of some brave too eager to catch his prey to keep wholly concealed.
The watching emigrants saw with pleasure that the Indians quickly gave up the chase, for the famous steed of the scout left them rapidly behind.
In an hour Midnight appeared as a mere speck upon the prairie.