“Go it, ole Red Buffler. I let ye go off this time, fur I want ter hev a stand-up fight wid ye. Yer maxim must be, ‘those who fight an’ run away, may live to fight another day,’ judgin’ by the way ye’re a-makin’ tracks,” said the guide, with a grin.
The four whites mounted their horses, and rode off toward the south.
They reloaded all of their weapons, and were talking over the recent fight as they rode on.
Suddenly the others saw Ralph turn in his saddle, and a low exclamation burst from his lips. What had caused it?
The others turned and looked back, but could see nothing.
“What is it, Ralph?” asked the young hunter.
“Look at the horizon. See that,” said Ralph.
“I see nothing but a cloud rising. What do you make it out to be?”
“I’ll tell yer what I know it to be. It is smoke. The cussed Injins hev fired the grass. The wind is a-blowin’ strong right toward us, an’ we must git. It looks bad, fur our horses are tired.”
The others started when they heard this. They were not through with the Comanches, after all. Red Buffalo hated them terribly, and although beaten in a square fight, he was not beaten altogether.