A man by his side handed him a rifle, which he sighted, then took down
as a puff of smoke rose above him.
Then there followed the smash of a bullet on the rock, a foot below
where Stella was lying.
"Pretty close work," said Ted. "That fellow is a corking good shot.
Look, he's coming to shoot again. Duck! I'll bet he gets the range this
time."
Every head went out of sight. Then came the sharp report of the rifle,
and the ball from it shattered the edge of the rock not far from
Stella's head.
"That'll be about enough of that," said Ted, picking up his own
Winchester. "We'll have to stop that fellow's fun, or he'll end by
hurting some of us."
Ted poked the barrel of his Winchester over the edge of the rock,
adjusted the sights, took a short aim, and fired.
Then he looked to see the result of it, and saw the man with the silver
face drop his rifle, stagger to the side of the canon, and sink down.
"By jove! I got him," exclaimed Ted. "I believe that from here we can
drive that whole bunch out of the valley and get back our cattle and
horses, if we dodge back and shoot straight. We'll try it. Every fellow
get ready to fire."
On seeing their leader fall, the men, both white and red, in the valley,
ran hither and yon in a state of great excitement.
But when the boys began to fire systematically at them, kicking up the
snow about them with every shot, it became a veritable panic.
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