Instantly their sergeant leader whirled them about and, pointing
the way, led them in wide circle, horses well in hand, back to the dry
wash, then down into its sandy depths. Here every trooper sprang from
saddle, and with the rein looped on the left arm, and from the shelter
of the straight, stiff banks, opened sharp fire on their pursuers, just
as Clayton's platoon, dismounting at the grove, sprang to the nearest
cover and joined in the fierce clamor of carbines. Racing down the
slope at top speed as were the Sioux, they could not all at once check
the way of their nimble mounts, and the ardor of the chase had carried
them far down to the flats before the fierce crackle began. Then it was
thrilling to watch them, veering, circling, sweeping to right or left,
ever at furious gallop, throwing their lithe, painted bodies behind
their chargers' necks, clinging with one leg and arm, barely showing so
much as an eyelid, yet yelping and screeching like so many coyotes, not
one of their number coming within four hundred yards of the slender
fighting line in the stream bed; some of them, indeed, disdaining to
stoop, riding defiantly along the front, firing wildly as they rode, yet
surely and gradually guiding their ponies back to the higher ground,
back out of harm's way; and, in five minutes from the time they had
flashed into view, coming charging over the mile away ridge, not a red
warrior was left on the low ground,--only three or four luckless ponies,
kicking in their last struggles or stiffening on the turf, while their
riders, wounded or unhurt, had been picked up and spirited away with the
marvellous skill only known to these warriors of the plains.
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