"
He heard a noise behind him, and wheeled.
Coming out of the willows a few hundred yards away were a score of
Indians, painted for war and all armed with rifles.
With a hasty movement the leader of the broncho boys loosened his
revolvers and glanced to see if his rifle was ready for instant use.
The Indians had stopped, as much surprised as Ted, and stood staring at
him in a stupid sort of way.
Ted saw that if he was to escape being murdered now was his chance, and
turned to his pony.
As he did so the Indians let out a whoop that frightened Bingo almost
into a fit, and, wheeling suddenly, he dashed away, almost dragging the
reins from Ted's grasp.
But as he did so Ted was by his side, running with one hand clutching
the long mane.
It was rough running over the rocks and hummocks with which the bank of
the stream was strewn, but Ted seemed to fly through space, so lightly
did his feet touch the ground.
Rifle balls were now singing through the air above Ted, and on every
side, which only served to increase the speed with which Bingo was
running away from his enemies, the Indians.
Bingo had been trained in New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas to regard the
Indian as his natural enemy, and whenever he smelled one it was his most
earnest desire to get as far away as possible in the shortest space of
time.
Pages:
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89