Soon the Indian, riding hell-bent south, was a tiny dark silhouette against the yellow prairie. Eli raised the barrel of his Kentucky long rifle. It was an impossible shot, Raoul thought, but he said nothing. Eli seemed to be aiming slightly high, not straight at the redskin. Raoul heard the Puke suck in a deep breath through his missing front teeth.
The rifle boomed. The muzzle flash made Raoul blink, and a cloud of blue-white smoke drifted across the canyon.
A long time seemed to pass with nothing happening. But maybe it was only a heartbeat or two. Then the dark, distant figure threw up his arms and toppled sideways from his horse. The horse kept running and was gone over the horizon a moment later.
"Right through his noodle," Eli said. "I couldn't of made that shot if he hadn't been riding due south. Too hard to get a lead on him and arch the bullet just right."
Eli made it seem just a simple matter of skill, but Raoul felt as if he had just seen a miracle.
The faces of the other men, as they climbed down from their horses, showed as much awe as Raoul felt.
"Pretty good shooting, for a Puke," said Levi Pope.
"Better'n any Sucker could do," Eli returned genially.
Raoul said, "Otto, go get that Indian's body and bring it back here."
Otto Wegner turned at once to remount his horse. Raoul liked the way the Prussian obeyed every order instantly.