Читать книгу Buffalo Bill, the Border King; Or, Redskin and Cowboy онлайн

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That he had chosen well his place to break through the Indian death-circle was evident, for there were few braves near him as he fled along the sloping ridge into the valley. His rifle he turned to right, or to left, firing with the same ease from either shoulder, while his mount, and the packhorse tied to its bridle, guided their own feet over the rocky way.

When he pulled trigger the bullet did not miss its mark. The rifle rang out a death-knell, or sent a wounded brave out of action.

The ponies of the Indians were feeding in the valley, with only a guard here and there, and there were no mounted warriors near to close in on the reckless rider, or to head him off. Hark! Their vengeful yells, as they observed the possibility of the daring man’s escape, were awful to hear. They were in a frenzy of rage at the desperate act of the horseman.

Rifles and bows sent bullets and shafts at him, but at long range. If he was hit he did not show it. The horses still thundered on, down into the valley, as recklessly as frenzied buffalo.