circle rapidly to the left in a constantly
contracting spiral. They did a great deal of yelling. Occasionally they
would shoot. To the latter feature the plainsmen lent an attentive ear,
for to their trained senses each class of arm spoke with a different
voice--the old muzzle-loader, the Remington, the long, heavy Sharp's 50,
each proclaimed itself plainly. The mere bullets did not interest them
in the least. Two men seated on the ground presented but a small mark to
the Indians shooting uncleaned weapons from running horses at three or
four hundred yards' range.

"That outfit is rank outsiders," concluded Alfred. "They ain't over a
dozen britch-loaders in the lay-out."

"Betcher anything you say I drops one," offered the stranger, taking a
knee-rest.

"Don't be so plumb fancy," advised Alfred, "but turn in and help."

He was satisfied with the present state of affairs, and was hacking at
the frozen ground with his knife. The light snow on the ridge-tops had
been almost entirely drifted away. The stranger obeyed.

On seeing the men thus employed, the Indians turned their horses
directly toward the group and charged in. At the range of perhaps two
hundred yards the Winchesters began to speak. Alfred fired twice and the
stranger three times. Then the circle broke and divided and passed by,
leaving an oval of untrodden ground.

"How many did you get?" inquired Alfred, with professional interest.

"Two," replied the man.

"Two here," supplemented Alfred.

A commotion, a squeal, a thrashing-about near at hand caused both to
turn suddenly. The pinto pony was down and kicking. Alfred walked over
and stuck him in the throat to save a cartridge.

"Move up, pardner," said he.

The other moved up. Thus the men became possessed of protection from one
side. The Indians had vented a yell of rage when the pony had dropped.
Now as each warrior approached a certain point in the circle, he threw
his horse back on its haunches, so that in a short time the entire band
was once more gathered in a group. Alfred and the outlaw knew that this
manoeuvre portended a more serious charge than the impromptu affair
they had broken with such comparative ease. An Indian is extremely
gregarious when it comes to open fighting. He gets a lot of
encouragement out of yells, the patter of many ponies' hoofs, and the
flutter of an abundance of feathers. Running in from the circumference
of a circle is a bit too individual to suit his taste.