The cayuse, like his rider, was something of a revelation to Buffalo Bill.
The wisdom of speed in that forward movement along the gulch was quickly apparent.
The crack of firearms began all along the top of the right-hand wall.
Both walls continued to increase in height and to draw nearer and nearer together. The sun could not penetrate the depths of the gulch, and the bottom lay in heavy shadow.
“So long as the Apaches hide themselves,” said Buffalo Bill, “we can do nothing to discourage them in this attack they are making. I am going to try a ruse to draw them down into the gulch, and within reach of our six-shooters. It is a time-honored ruse, but it will work nine times out of ten. At the next shot, Dell, I’m going to tumble out of my saddle. You ride on, as though too frightened to turn back, and catch Bear Paw. Don’t stop until you reach the darkest part of the gulch, then round-to under the lee of a boulder, and watch.”
“Trust me,” answered the girl.
The shot for which the scout was waiting was not long in coming. It cracked out above and gouged into the flinty earth several feet in advance of Buffalo Bill; nevertheless, he gave a wild cry, dropped his reins, flung up his hands, and wilted from Bear Paw’s back.
Apparently his fall was a heavy one; but, really, it was only nicely calculated to appear so. With hardly a jar, the scout had struck the ground and straightened out.
It was all so well done that, for an instant, Dell’s heart flew into her throat, and she feared that the last bullet really had reached its mark. She would have drawn rein, in spite of her instructions, had Buffalo Bill not called softly for her to ride on and catch Bear Paw.
As Dell flickered on up the gulch, fierce cries of triumph floated down from the right-hand wall. Indians on horseback showed themselves against the sky-line—five of them—and peered downward with hands shielding their eyes.