“Fire low then. You may catch the horses if ye miss the Redskins. Anyhow you’ll hit the ground if you aim low, an’ it’s wonderful what execution a bullet may do arter hittin’ mother Earth.”
“I never aim,” replied the sailor. “Only a waste o’ time. I just point straight an’ fire away.”
“Do it, then,” growled roaring Bull, with something that sounded like a short laugh.
At the same moment he himself took quick aim at the foe and fired; the leading horse and man immediately rolled upon the plain.
As both men were armed with repeating rifles the fusillade was rapid, and most of the savages, who seldom fight well in the open, were repulsed. But several of them, headed apparently by their chief, rode on fearlessly until within pistol-shot.
Then the two defenders of this peculiar fortress sprang up with revolvers in each hand.
“Lie close, Mary,” cried Jackson as he fired, and the chief’s horse rolled over, almost reaching their position with the impetus of the charge. The chief himself lay beside his horse, for another shot had ended his career. As two other horses had fallen, the rest of the band wheeled aside and galloped away, followed by a brisk fire from the white men, who had again crouched behind their breast-work and resumed their rifles.
Bullets were by that time flying over them in considerable numbers, for those Indians who had not charged with their chief had, after retiring to a safe distance, taken to firing at long range. At this work Dick’s rifle and straight pointing were of little use, so he reserved his fire for close quarters, while Jackson, who was almost a certain shot at average ranges, kept the savages from drawing nearer.
“Lie closer to the pony, Miss Mary,” said Dick, as a shot passed close over the girl and whistled between him and his comrade. “Were you hurt in the fall?”
“No, not in the least. Don’t you think they’ll hear the firing at the ranch, father?”