Theirs was indeed a desperate charge, and, although now hidden by the nature of the ground from the bulk of the Indians, the encounter was visible from the fort. The chorus of wild yells, the rattle of revolvers, the heavier discharges of the old muzzle-loaders of the redskins, and the resonant war-cries of the scouts themselves, were heard by the besieged. The Border King and Texas Jack were having the running fight of their lives. Would they get through alive? Suddenly a chorused groan arose from the white onlookers, while a shriek of exultation came from those Indians who saw the incident. Buffalo Bill’s horse gave a sudden convulsive leap ahead, then fell to his knees. The scout loosened his feet in the stirrups, and, as the brave Buckskin rolled over upon its side, dead, the scout stood upright, turning his revolvers on his foes. Texas Jack, on the white charger, tore on into the mouth of the cañon. Buffalo Bill had emptied the pistols which he had carried in his saddle-holsters. Now, he stood beside his dead horse, with the pistols drawn from his belt in either hand. He stood boldly at bay, and the redskins went down before his deadly aim. The redskins’ triumph was short-lived. Texas Jack, seeing his partner’s peril, turned his great white charger as quickly as might be. Back he rushed to Cody’s side. “Up with yuh, pard!” he shouted. He whirled the big horse again. With a leap, Buffalo Bill sprang up behind Texas Jack, his back to that of his partner, and again the horse was headed for the cañon’s mouth. The four revolvers of the scouts spit death into their foes at every jump of the horse. Those redskins who opposed the way either crumpled up and fell to the rocks or dodged behind the boulders for safety. It seemed as though their numbers were sufficient to make the scouts’ escape impossible; the odds against the white men were all of ten to one! But the redskins’ shooting was wild, while the accuracy of the white men’s aim was phenomenal. Many a red, just as he had drawn bead upon the scouts, was struck by a pistol ball, and either knocked over completely or his own shot diverted. The cheering of the garrison as they saw Texas Jack return for his partner inspired the scouts. The last Indian went down before them and was trampled under the hoofs of the charger that bore them both, and as they shot out of sight into the gloom of the cañon’s mouth Buffalo Bill removed his sombrero and waved it to the watchers on the fort stockade, while his well-known war-cry rang over the field of battle! CHAPTER VII. THE ACE OF CLUBS. “We’ve got through, Jack!” “We sure have, Pard Cody.” “Anybody hurt?” “I got a couple of nicks from the pesky arrows,” said Omohondreau. “But, shucks! them Injuns can’t shoot with a white man’s gun worth a hoot in a rainwater barrel.... Yuh lost Buckskin, Cody.” “And sorry enough I am to lose the poor creature. He’s been a good nag.” “How about you, Pard Cody?”