"Tom! Say, you aren't going to leave me?"
That was Joe Burgess, a comrade, trying to crawl to him.
"No, I won't. Come on, Joe. Get aboard. Quick! We'll make in, double."
Joe's ankle had been broken by a bullet. Tom, a fine big fellow, was off in a second, picked Joe up bodily, carried him to the horse--and away the horse bolted, without either of them. It had smelled Indians.
"By ginger, but that's a mean trick," Tom rapped. "Never mind. You make a three-legged crawl of it; keep to the tall grass and hug the ground like a snake. I'll cover your trail and fight the Injuns off."
A brave man, he let Joe disappear in the tall grass of the prairie. First he thought that he'd follow. But that wouldn't do. The smoke was drifting slowly and clearing; the Indians would see him--would see the trail, anyway, and kill Joe if they didn't kill him, himself.
He dived for a patch of brush, to leave a trail of his own. Hah! Injuns! There was a large fat fellow searching about, on one side, and there were two others between him and the fort. He'd better draw them after him; maybe he could string them out and fight them separately. That would give Joe a good chance. He jumped from the brush patch and ran for the willows of a little creek. The fat Indian saw him and with a whoop ran in pursuit.
Suddenly his leg went bad, almost throwing him down. He had been wounded in the first "scrimmage" and had not known it. Pshaw! He'd never outfoot the Indian, to the willows. He turned, with lifted gun. The fat Indian dodged briskly. That occurred several times. The two other Indians were now coming, also.
"If I don't get shet o' this fat rascal I'm gone 'coon," muttered Tom. "But, dod rat him, he so lively I can't lay bead on his greasy hide! I'll have to draw his fire, Kentucky way."
Daniel Boone and other Long Hunters of Kentucky knew how to dodge Indians' bullets. They would wait for the fall of the hammer and the flash of the priming in the pan, and would spring aside before the ball reached them. It was a great trick, but it took a quick eye and steady nerve.
Ranger Higgins decided to try it. He did not dare to use his own load. He watched the fat Indian, let him take aim--and at the spurt from the hammer he whirled. But he was too slow. The ball struck him in the thigh and knocked him down.
