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

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There was no time for hesitation. Again the scout had to take life or be killed himself. The scout was a good shot with the bow and arrows as he was with rifle or pistol. And he must use a silent weapon to get rid of this foe.

It was too far to leap with his knife. The bow and arrows of the dead chief came in handy. In a flash the crouching scout fitted an arrow to the bowstring and drew the shaft to its head. There he waited, still as a graven image, until the horse and rider were almost upon him.

Then he let drive the arrow. It sped with fearful force, aimed at the throat of the red chieftain that all death-cry might be stilled.

True was the aim and fatal the shot. The arrow penetrated the Indian’s throat, and its head stuck out a hand’s breadth at the back of his neck. Without a sound the Indian toppled from the pony’s back.

The horse snorted and sprang forward. His escape might have been as dire a calamity for the scout as the death-yell of the chieftain. If the pony dashed away across the valley, the sentinels would surely be aroused.