While the noise was at its height a sound, or rather sensation, of many feet beating the earth was felt. Next moment a compact line was seen to wheel round the bluff where the fight was going on, and a stentorian “Charge!” was uttered, as the United States cavalry, preceded by Hunky Ben, bore down with irresistible impetuosity on the foe.
But the Indians did not await this onset. They turned and fled, scattering as they went, and the fight was quickly turned into a total rout and hot pursuit, in which troopers, outlaws, travellers, ranch-men, scouts, and cow-boys joined. The cavalry, however, had ridden far and fast, so that the wiry little mustangs of the plains soon left them behind, and the bugle ere long recalled them all.
It was found on the assembling of the forces that not one of the outlaws had returned. Whether they were bent on wreaking their vengeance still more fully on their foes, or had good reason for wishing to avoid a meeting with troops, was uncertain; but it was shrewdly suspected that the latter was the true reason.
“But you led the charge with Buck Tom, sir,” said Jackson to Charlie, in considerable surprise, “though how you came to be in his company is more than I can understand.”
“Here’s somebody that can explain, maybe,” said one of the cow-boys, leading forward a wounded man whose face was covered with blood, while he limped as if hurt in the legs. “I found him tryin’ to crawl into the brush. D’ye know him, boys?”
“Why, it’s Jake the Flint!” exclaimed several voices simultaneously; while more than one hand was laid on a revolver, as if to inflict summary punishment.
“I claim this man as my prisoner,” said the commander of the troops, with a stern look that prevented any attempt at violence.
“Ay, you’ve got me at last,” said the outlaw, with a look of scorn. “You’ve bin a precious long time about it too.”
“Secure him,” said the officer, deigning no reply to these remarks.
Two troopers dismounted, and with a piece of rope began to tie the outlaw’s hands behind him.