Well in the shadow of the gulch above, Dell captured Bear Paw, dropped his bridle-reins over her saddle-pommel, and tossed her own reins over Silver Heels’ head. With the reins in this position, the white cayuse would stand as though tied to a post.
Dropping to the ground, the girl crept back down the gulch for a little way, and watched further developments from behind a boulder.
The five Apaches, thinking the scout had been slain, were dismounting and making a hurried descent into the gulch.
Their descent was a race, for the first man to reach the scout would secure his scalp. And to secure the scalp of Pa-e-has-ka, the long-haired chief, was an honor, indeed!
Slipping, sliding, jumping, the redskins drew nearer and nearer the bottom of the gulch. One was well in the lead, and Dell, her nerves aquiver with excitement, watched his dark form come closer and closer to the scout.
At last, when the leading Apache was about to make the final jump to the bottom of the gulch, and was already fingering the hilt of his scalping-knife, Buffalo Bill regained his feet.
Crack, crack, crack! rang out his revolvers.
Two of the Apaches—the one in advance and the other next behind him—were wounded and dropped into the gulch bottom; but they were not badly wounded. They were scared far more than hurt, and they at once took to their heels, one going up the gulch and the other down.
Instantly a thrill of alarm shot through the scout on the girl’s account.
Four Indians were still on the gulch wall, but they were frantically climbing toward the top again. Leaving them to their own devices, the scout rushed after the Apache who had gone bounding up the gulch.