But the end of the race for life was not yet. Though the world-famous desperado had held his course straight toward the whooping Indians, his mind and eyes had been almost entirely upon the troopers. When he had caught sight of the first troopers rising from the ravine and realized the desperateness of the position of himself and his companions, with that instinct which had made him so valuable an asset to the old guerilla chieftain, Quantrell, in the days of the Civil War, he had realized that the one chance of escape open, lay in reaching the ravine. Yet his eyes, calculating the distance nicely, told him that, should he make a dash for it, the troopers could head him off by riding along the edge of the gorge. A moment he had been puzzled as to what to do. Then, in a flash, it had come to him that by retracing his course and riding straight at the howling savages he might be able to entice the soldiers to follow him, abandoning their strategic advantages of the position along the ravine. With elation, he had seen the troopers fall into his snare. This accomplished, he had kept watch of their pursuit, waiting for the instant when they should be so far away from the ravine that he could beat them to it. At last the time came. With a whispered command, he had bidden his pals wheel and rush for the gorge. Skilled horsemen all, they had accomplished the turn which was so sudden that it would have unseated less expert riders. But so absorbed were they in watching the troopers that they had not noticed five bucks who had broken away from their fellows and were bearing down upon them with the speed of whirlwinds. Riding with marvelous ease and grace, the redmen closed upon them with incredible rapidity. No whoop or yell did they utter. Their success in getting near enough to the men who had killed their brother warriors and outraged their race by shooting their medicine woman lay in their silence. Breathlessly the rest of the braves watched them. As the echoes of the outlaws' derisive shouts, when they dashed past the head of the cavalry, died away, one of the bucks straightened and raised his arm. Bang! went the pistol in his hand. The report of the gun was the first intimation Jesse and his pals had of the proximity of the braves. And as the bullet whistled over their heads, they whirled on the backs of their ponies to see who it was that had been able to get within shooting distance of them, undiscovered. "Drop em! Drop 'em!" roared the world-famous desperado, adding a terrible oath. Crash! went the dozen six shooters. The six outlaws were firing with a gun in each hand. But only one Indian toppled from his pony. "Again!" bellowed Jesse. "Get 'em this time!" Once more the twelve pistols barked. And once more only one brave fell. "What's the matter with you?" snarled the notorious outlaw. "_If we don't get them, they'll get us!_" But the task imposed on the bandits was no easy one.