Cody beheld this move from a hilltop, and immediately rode down to the river. Had he crossed the paths of any of the Indians--they were not Sioux, but he knew the tribe--he might have obtained their help. Alone, however, he came to the river-bank. The canoes were far out in the stream and going down rapidly with the current and the force of the paddles. The scout saw the White Antelope on her knees in the forward boat, her arms stretched out to him. Her mute gesture for help spurred him on to a desperate attempt! Chief had come far now without much rest, but he was able to make one more spurt. Down the river path the scout thundered, racing to catch up with the canoes. There was a high bluff across the river, offering no landing-place. On this side the bank was low. Even if the canoes were paddled near the opposite shore, the scout’s rifle would carry a deadly ball that distance. In coming near, and into sight, however, he gave the bandits a chance to try their marksmanship upon him. But this risk the brave scout took. For the White Antelope’s sake he was venturing his life. He forced Chief to top speed until the brave old horse came out upon a cleared space just ahead of the two canoes. The bandits began to pop at him with their rifles; but shooting from a sitting position in a trumpery little canoe was no easy job. Both craft were overloaded, anyway. Two men were supposed to be the full complement of the cargo of each. So the craft rode low, and the least movement might tip them over. One man in the forward boat, and two in the latter, turned their attention to the scout and his white horse; but their bullets flew wide of the mark. The scout, however, paid no more attention to the whistling lead than he would have to so many buzzing flies. He dismounted from Chief, and, standing out deliberately on the river-bank, raised his rifle and took aim at the leading paddler in the rear boat. He did not shoot at those with White Antelope in the other canoe. First he would reduce the numbers of the gang. Crack! The heavy rifle spoke no louder than a pistol across the flat surface of the water. With a yell the man dropped his paddle, turned a face all gory upon the scout, and then pitched out of the canoe! Strangely enough he did not tip over the vessel. Another caught up his paddle. They tried to urge the craft to the foot of the steep bluff. But now the current had caught the light canoe in a fierce grip, and to swerve it was not easy. Crack! Just as a second man was drawing bead as well as he could upon the undaunted scout, the rifle dropped from his hands, and he fell backward into the bottom of the canoe. The craft dipped dangerously and all but went over. As it righted the scout fired a third time. Plunk the ball went through and through the body of the canoe!