They were out on the prairie, and knowing that they could not escape on their mules, Simpson and the extra told Billy to ride off on Sable Satan and save himself.

But this the boy would not do, saying that he would remain with them.

“Then your horse must go with our mules,” said Simpson.

“All right, Lew,” said Billy, though the tears came into his eyes.

Telling them to dismount, just as they came to a buffalo wallow, Lew Simpson said: 

“Now, give ’em a shot just back of the ears.”

The shots were fired, Billy shutting his eyes as he pulled the trigger, and Sable Satan and the two mules dropped dead in their tracks.

In an instant they were dragged into position, so as to form a triangular fort, and getting into the wallow, with their knives the three threw up the dirt as rapidly as possible to make their position safer.

By this time the Indians, some half hundred in number, were rushing upon them with wildest yells.

But crouching down in their little fort of flesh and dirt, Lew Simpson and his man and boy comrade leveled their rifles over the bodies of the slain animals, and, as the bowling red-skins came within sixty yards, fired together.

Down went three Indians, and while Lew Simpson reloaded the yagers Billy and George Woods fired with their revolvers with such right good will the Indians were checked in their advance and turned to retreat out of range, followed by three more shots from the yagers.

Five Indians and four ponies were the result of this fight, and it gave the holders of the triangular fort confidence in themselves.

But the Indians did not give up the attack, but circled around and around the fort, firing upon the defenders with their arrows, and slightly wounding all three of them, while the bodies of the mules and horse were literally filled with shafts.

After a few rides around their pale-face foes, the Indians suddenly charged again, coming from every quarter, and forcing the whites to each defend the space in his front.

With demoniacal yells they came on once more, and once more the yagers opened, and then were thrown aside for the rapidly firing revolvers which did fearful execution.

Glancing toward Billy Lew Simpson saw that he was perfectly cool and had a revolver in each hand, although his shirt was saturated with blood from the arrow wound in his shoulder.

Unable to understand, or stand the hot fire of the revolvers, they again broke, when within twenty yards of the fort and rode off rapidly out of range.

“You got three that time, Billy,” cried Lew Simpson gleefully, as he saw a trio of red-skins scattered along in the front of the boy.

Billy smiled grimly and reloaded his weapons, after which Lew Simpson dressed the wounds of his comrades, who returned a like favor for him.

But the Indians had by no means gone, for they had gone into camp in a circle around their foes, but well out of range of the fearful Mississippi yagers.