"He doesn't answer my sign," he said, drawing down the lever of his carbine. "He's a Sioux. There's a crowd of his braves behind the rise there. It's the lot we're looking for, and they know it. They won't want me to go back. They'll rush us. We've got to fight for it. Keep cool!"
"It's all my fault," Maple Leaf regretted. "What can I do? I've no gun!"
"You can do nothing but lie low," Silk told her. "We can't escape through this dog town, all full of holes. See! They're coming!"
From all around, silent as shadows, warriors on horseback appeared, each with a rifle across his naked arm. The sunlight shone upon their greasy bodies and painted faces, and the white eagle feathers of their head-dresses. They collected in a group. Some of them seemed to be speaking, to be planning how they should kill or capture the red-coated scout who had found their trail. Then one by one in turn they moved away, forming in single file, and making a wide circle round the centre occupied by Sergeant Silk and his girl companion.
Silk glanced back at the two hobbled horses. No, it was too late to think of escape.
At first the Indians rode at a quick walking pace, far apart from each other; but before the wide ring was complete they had increased their speed to a wild, racing gallop. Each warrior threw himself along the off side of his steed, and as they wheeled round and round, keeping always the same distance away, they yelled their shrill war cry, firing no shot as yet.
Sergeant Silk's eyes were steadily watching them. He was lying at full length, supported on an elbow. His face had taken on a look of grim determination.
"They're not risking to come closer—not yet," he said calmly. "The dog holes are as bad for them as for us. We're safe for a bit. You see, Indians are never good marksmen with firearms. They never clean their rifles, never get hold of decent ammunition; and it isn't just easy, anyhow, to take aim from a galloping horse. You've no need to be afraid," he added reassuringly.
"I'm not anyways afraid while you're here, Sergeant," Maple Leaf responded. "Why don't they get doing something? Why don't they shoot?"
Suddenly, as if he had heard her and understood, one of the warriors flung himself forward under his pony's neck and fired into the ring. The bullet kicked up a spurt of dust many yards away, but it was the signal for the beginning of the fight.