The hearts of the watching people at the fort were in their throats. A general cry of dread burst from them as they saw the Border King and Texas Jack turn abruptly toward the cañon. The Indians saw the act, too, but for a few seconds did not comprehend it. They were slower than White Antelope in understanding that the supposed warrior with Pa-e-has-ka was a white man in disguise, and that the person careering across the plain on the black charger was the real Oak Heart. The signals of Texas Jack in his character of Oak Heart had drawn many of the Indians away from the cañon’s mouth toward the place for which the supposed chief and Buffalo Bill seemed to be aiming. There were very few left in the path of the reckless scouts. Yet those few must be settled with. There were no mounted warriors near the cañon entrance. The great scout had chosen his place of attack wisely. And there were few ponies in the vicinity, anyway--not over two dozen at the most. The earlier stampeding of the ponies had almost entirely dismounted Oak Heart’s braves. The ponies that might follow, should the scouts get through safely, neither of them feared, mounted as they were on such splendid animals. “Let ’em out, Jack!” cried Buffalo Bill, as they made directly for the cañon. “I hear you!” returned Texas Jack, smiling recklessly, and settling himself more firmly in his saddle. The two were off like frightened deer. For some moments the Indians were almost dumb with amazement. Then the war-whoop of Oak Heart was answered by wild cries from all about the field. The reds knew that the Border King had outwitted them, and as one man the mob of redskins made for the entrance to the cañon, firing as they ran. The scouts did not return the fire. They kept their bullets for targets nearer the path their horses followed. The nearer Indians were converging swiftly at the mouth of the cañon. Behind, and nearest to the scouts, came Oak Heart and White Antelope, who had waited to join her father. But neither of them were armed. When Buffalo Bill snatched the revolver from the girl’s belt he had made a good point in the game, for she was an excellent shot with the small gun--for an Indian. Suddenly The Border King raised his rifle, and shot after shot rang out. He fired at the Indians directly in front of him, gathering to bar the way. There were now a score of them near enough to be dangerous. The repeating rifle sang deadly music, for several of the braves fell. With the last shot from Buffalo Bill’s weapon, Texas Jack’s gun took up the tune and rattled forth the death notes. They were now close to the group of reds, and the shots forced the Indians to scatter. Instantly the scouts slung their guns over their shoulders and drew the big pistols from the saddle-holsters. With one of these in each hand, the scouts rode on.