The scout wondered if the herdsman would see them in time to take measures for the defense of himself and his family. The herd was probably as good as lost. There were about ten of the red riders, and they rode straight for the cattle, boldly and without attempt to conceal their presence. They were scarcely three miles away. Yes, the herder saw his prospective visitors and began hustling his stock toward the cabin, which sat at the base of a little round-topped hill where the creek made a sharp turn around it. At first the scout was puzzled. He could not imagine what safety there would be to the herd in closer proximity to the building unless the settler hoped to shoot from behind his cabin walls and keep the reds away from the herd. But presently he made out a narrow passage between the hut and the creek which seemed to be an entrance to a natural amphitheatre on the river side of the hill. It was an anxious time for the watching scout, for the Indians were gaining rapidly and the cattle would run here and there and pause to grasp a mouthful or two of grass. Then, when they were nearer, the brave wife, in spite of the oncoming terror, whose yells could now be heard, ran out and assisted in rounding the stock into the little inclosure. Before it was done the Indians were firing rapidly and bullets must have sprinkled closely about the plucky herdsman and his helpmeet. The settler slipped from the saddle, sending his mount in with the stock, and while the woman darted into the cabin, he dropped upon one knee and took deliberate aim at the oncoming, yelling, shooting horsemen. “Crack!” went the rifle, and one savage pitched from the saddle. The settler did not move and the riders came on, broken up somewhat by the dodging, riderless horse. “Crack!” a horse and rider plunged into the grass. “Crack!” another riderless horse, and then the red men wheeled and galloped the other way, to get beyond the range of that unwavering repeater. But a fourth was lifted from the saddle before they were beyond range. There the Indians paused to hold council. It had been a costly exploit for them. One brave was undoubtedly dead and so was a pony. Two red men who had been wounded were crawling away in the grass, and the one who rode the dead pony was evidently seriously hurt, for he lay quite still. The settler stalked calmly back and forth in front of his little castle, and the wife now made her appearance in the doorway with children clinging to her. She passed her husband another rifle, and took the one he had to replenish the magazine. Buffalo Bill admired the fortitude of these hardy frontier folk, but he told the boy that in the darkness when the settler could not see to make shots count, the Indians would charge on the little cabin, murder all the inmates, and drive off the stock. That was all the red men were waiting for now, the cover of darkness.