Black John dropped the bridle rein of the girl’s horse, and, drawing his revolver, he rode to meet the chief, firing upon him. He saw the chief tumble to the ground, with a bullet in his forehead.
Black John was really a capable fighter, the natural leader of the wild men he grouped about him.
Another Indian was coming toward him, and this Indian he shot out of the saddle.
But by this time the horse ridden by the girl was galloping off at its best gait, and was really going fast, for fright gave it renewed strength.
With a running leap, Black John sprang to the back of one of the Indian ponies, and then tried to catch the other.
Several Indians rushing upon him compelled him to abandon his attempt to capture the second pony.
He yelled defiance at them, as they shot at him and hurled their lances; and, with backward shots from his revolver, he rode away at a furious pace, following the girl.
He saw that several of his men were down, that others were fighting with Indians, while still others were, like himself, riding away for safety.
The chase that followed was a hot one, and Black John was pressed hard; but the pony he now had under him was fast, and he did not spare it. He overtook the girl, shouting to her to stop. When she did not, he rode up beside her galloping horse. Then he fairly lifted her from its back, throwing her against his side; and, holding her there by main strength, he galloped furiously on.
“Git up behind me!” he shouted. “If you don’t, you’ll tumble, and it will be the worse for you.”