The crack of the hunter’s rifle sounded after they had disappeared.
Had he fired too late to hit one of the Indians?
His bullet did not touch a red-skin, and yet it did what Ralph had intended it should. The three other whites turned in their saddles as Ralph fired, and when they saw that none of the Comanches were in view they felt sure that his bullet must have been wasted.
But it was not.
Ralph, when he turned to fire, had intended to shoot one of the Comanches, but when he saw them disappear from his sight, he quickly changed his aim, and pointed his rifle at one of the horses.
His finger pressed the trigger, and following the crack came a shrill neigh of agony, and one of the horses dropped suddenly to the earth.
His rider, not expecting this, was not ready to leap off, and he came down with a terrible crack upon the ground.
He did not rise to his feet, for the simple reason that the fall had disjointed his neck, and he was a doomed man.
And now the Indians began gaining upon the four whites.
Foot after foot and yard after yard they came up, and at length Ralph saw that a stand must be made.