CHAPTER XII.
CHASED BY THE FLAMES.
A loud, clear, singular yell sounded over the plain.
It was given by Red Buffalo himself, and the hunter knew just what it meant. The Indians were about to attack them in force.
“Down wid yer guns, boys, and let the pistols speak. They’re a-comin’ now, an’ we’ll give ’em the very ole dickens,” said the old trapper.
On came the Comanches from every direction, to the number of eighteen. When they got close up, they rose to their seats, and brandishing their tomahawks and rifles in the air.
As they did so, three revolvers sent as many of them to the ground, and the tiny crack of the Frenchman’s revolver sounded quickly after. Monsieur Tierney had been an officer in the French army, and he was a dead shot with the pistol.
His man fell to the ground with a yell of pain, badly wounded.
Again the revolvers cracked, and yet a third time.
Eight of the Comanches were down, and the remaining ten, including Red Buffalo and Snapping Fox, were wavering.
Another discharge, and the fall of two more braves quickly decided them. Turning their mustangs, they bent forward, so that the whites could not get a good aim at them, and off they went like the wind.