"Don't I wish I was with the boys just now!" growled Bill. "Three more good rifles'd be a good thing for 'em."
"Skinner'll fight, you see 'f he don't. He'll stop some of that yelling."
"He's great on friendship and compromise," groaned Bill. "He may think it's good sense not to shoot first."
The three gazed anxiously out toward the scene of the approaching conflict, if there was to be one. They could not see the advance of their comrades, but they knew they were coming.
"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Bill. "That's the boys. Opened on 'em. Oh, don't I wish I was thar!"
The other two could hardly speak in their excitement and disgust. It was a dreadful thing for men of their stamp to be tied to trees while a fight was going on which might decide whether they were to live or die.
Suddenly a squad of Lipans came dashing in; the cords that bound them were cut—all but those on their hands; they were rudely lifted upon bare-backed ponies, and led rapidly away to the front of the battle. They could not understand a word of the fierce and wrathful talking around them; but the gesticulations of the warriors were plainer than their speech. Besides, some of them were attending to wounds upon their own bodies or those of others. Some were on foot, their ponies having been shot under them. More than all, there were warriors lying still upon the grass who would never again need horses.
"It's been a sharp fight," muttered Bill, "for a short one. I wonder if any of the boys went under? What are they gwine to do with us?"
A tall Lipan sat on his horse in front of him, with his long lance levelled as if only waiting the word of command to use it. It remained to be seen whether or not the order would be given, for now To-la-go-to-de himself was riding slowly out to meet Captain Skinner.
"He can't outwit the Captain," said one of the miners. "Shooting first was the right thing to do this time. Skinner doesn't make many mistakes."