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.

Neale rode as he had never before ridden.  Fortunately his horse was fresh and fast, and that balanced the driving the cowboy was giving his mount.  For a long distance they held their own with the Sioux.  They had now gained a straight-away course for the work-train, so that with the Sioux behind they had only to hold out for a few miles.  Brush appeared as well off as they were.  Slingerland led by perhaps a hundred feet, far over to the left, and he was wholly out of range.

It took a very short time at that pace to cover a couple of miles.  And then the Indians began to creep up closer and closer.  Again they were shooting.  Neale heard the reports and each one made him flinch in expectation of feeling the burn of a bullet.  Brush was now turning to fire his rifle.

Neale bethought himself of his own Winchester, which he was carrying in his hand.  Dropping the rein over the horn of his saddle, he turned half round.  How close, how red, how fierce these Sioux were!  He felt his hair rise stiff under his hat.  And at the same instant a hot wrath rushed over him, madness to fight, to give back blow for blow.  Just then several of the Indians fired.  He heard the sharp cracks, then the spats of bullets striking the ground;