Dick and Tom almost hugged him in their joy at his safe return, and then questioned him anxiously as to whether he had sent the message.

“I got it through, all right,” said Bert, “and I don’t think there’s much doubt that somebody received it.  Now it’s only a question of holding out until help comes.”

“It’ll have to come mighty soon,” declared Buck, who had seemed much surprised at Bert’s safe return; “at dawn or jest before is the time the varmints will close in upon us.”

The hours dragged on and, as Buck had predicted, just before dawn a hideous yell rent the air, and a shower of bullets whined over the heads of the besieged party.

They grasped their firearms and prepared for a desperate encounter.  But for a few minutes after the outbreak all was silent as the grave, and in the slight respite the first pale streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern sky.

“Thank God for the light, anyway,” exclaimed Dick fervently; “at least we’ll be able to see what we’re doing.”

Before anybody could reply to this there was another shrill yell, and against the rapidly lightening sky the defenders could see a vague body of horsemen charging toward them.

“Shoot!” yelled Buck, suiting the action to the word.  “Make every bullet tell.”  Outside of the two passengers, who were unarmed and could do little to aid the defense, there were five men behind the ramparts who were excellent marksmen.  Dick’s and Tom’s revolvers barked viciously, and the deadly rifles wielded by Bert and the stage driver made havoc in the ranks of the attacking braves.  Sam, the guard, wielded his heavy Colts with the skill and sure aim of a veteran, and the Indians broke ranks under the withering hail of bullets.  They wheeled their horses off to either side of the stoutly defended fortification and galloped out of range, leaving a number of still figures on the ground.

“First blood for us,” shouted Bert exultantly.  “I guess we gave them a warmer reception than they figured on.”

“Yes, but they’ll be back pretty soon,” said Buck.  “There’s a hundred of them if there’s one, and they would never dare face the tribe again if they let themselves be beaten by half a dozen ’pale faces’.”

Nothing could have suited the three comrades better, for their fighting blood was aroused, and all thought of danger was swallowed up in the primitive love of battle that is inherent in every man.

“Here they come,” shouted Dick, and come they did, but more cautiously this time.  They had learned their lesson, and realized how deadly was the white mans’ aim.  They hung low from the saddle, on the side farthest from the defenders, thus interposing the bodies of their horses as shields between themselves and the defenders.

In this fashion they galloped and wheeled back and forth in front of the breastworks, firing over and under their horses, and drawing ever a little closer, a little closer, until they should close on the devoted little band of whites and annihilate them.