measuring distance and speed.

"We shore got to ride!" was what Larry apparently yelled, though the

sound of words drifted as a faint whisper to Neale. But the roar of

buffalo hoofs was rapidly diminishing.

Then Neale realized what it meant to keep close to the cowboy. Every

moment Larry turned round both to watch the Indians and to have a

glance at his comrade. They began to gain on Slingerland. Brush was

riding for dear life off to the right, and the Irishman, Pat, still

farther in that direction, was in the most perilous situation of

all. Already the white skipping streaks of dust from bullets whipped

up in front of him. The next time Neale looked back the Sioux had

split up; some were riding hard after Brush and Pat; the majority

were pursuing the other three hunters, cutting the while a little to

the right, for Slingerland was working round toward the work-train.

Neale saw the smoke of the engine and then the train. It seemed far

away. And he was sure the Indians were gaining. What incomparable

riders! They looked half naked, dark, gleaming, low over their

mustangs, feathers and trappings flying in the wind--a wild and

panic-provoking sight.

"Don't ride so close!" yelled Larry. "They're spreadin'!"

Neale gathered that the Indians were riding farther apart because

they soon expected to be in range of bullets; and Larry wanted Neale

to ride farther from him for the identical reason.

Neale saw the first white puff of smoke from a rifle of the leader.

The bullet hit far behind. More shots kept raising the dust, the

last time still a few yards short.

"Gawd! Look!" yelled Larry. "The devils hit Pat's hoss!"

Neale saw the Irishman go down with his horse, plunge in the dust,

and then roll over and lie still.

"They got him!" he yelled at Larry.

"Ride thet hoss!" came back grimly and appealingly from the cowboy.