“Yes—yes,” she said, when she heard again that terrifying sound. “I can ride.”
Buffalo Bill helped her mount to the saddle. He was afoot now, and so was Wild Bill, for the latter had mounted his two prisoners on the one horse, and had tied them, and held them cowed with his revolver.
Buffalo Bill glanced about. He knew that the dogs were not alone, and that soon some of Panther Pete’s desperate followers would be in sight, after which there would probably be a lively battle, with the odds probably against him and his pard.
He saw a hollow in the rocks just across the path, not far away.
“We can put the horses behind the hill there,” he said to Wild Bill, “and then we can get into that pocketlike place, and by heaping up a sort of breastworks make a stand so strong that we’ll trouble the rascals, if no more.”
“Correct,” Wild Bill assented; “and I guess we’d better move lively.”
They moved lively, and were soon in the hollow spoken of, with the horses out of sight behind the rise of the hill.
The prisoners were tied anew, and so securely that there was little chance they could break away; and the girl, who had been taken from the horse, was asked by the scouts to watch them.
Then Buffalo Bill and his companion set to work to roll some stones together in front of their hiding place, and behind those stones they meant to take their stand.
Soon the dogs were in sight, baying, and came on, following the tracks of the girl, with noses held close to the ground. They were big brutes, three of them, of ferocious aspect. Behind them appeared several horsemen, riding at a rapid pace, but not too fast for the dogs.