A word to his comrades sufficed to let them know his intentions, and then like a flash the whole four suddenly stopped in their wild career. Their rifles were discharged without lifting them to their shoulders.
There was no time to do this. Every second was precious to the whites, and every one must be used in diminishing the number of their foes. Every one of the rifle-bullets proved to hold a life in it.
Three warriors (the nearest to them) received the balls in their breasts, and with wild screams that were heard above the howls and yells of their comrades, they threw up their arms wildly above their heads, and letting their weapons drop to the ground, they slipped from their horses, and followed after them.
Giving his rifle a whirl around his head, the old hunter let it fly at one of his enemies. The Indian saw it coming and quickly dodged. He thus escaped a hard blow, but although the heavy rifle missed the one it was aimed at, yet it did its work.
An Indian behind the one aimed at, received it full in his breast, and he fell backward from his horse, pulling a comrade with him.
As the hunter threw his gun, the right arm of Monsieur Tierney was extended, and a faint crack was heard by his comrades.
The Indians heard nothing but they saw a little cloud of smoke, and also saw a comrade fall heavily from his horse.
Again the tiny revolver sounds the death-warrant of an Indian, and by this time the others had their pistols out.
Crack! crack! crack! they went, sounding high and clear above the noise of the combat. Again the deadly revolvers flashed out fire, smoke, and lead. Again the Indians recoiled before this deadly fire.
Then with a yell of rage that rolled hoarsely along the plain, they dashed forward, and the fight became a general hand-to-hand struggle.