Three ponies galloped riderless over the prairie, and our besiegers hesitated, then wheeled, and rode out of range.

But our rest was short.

Back they came.

Again we fired, and had the good fortune to stop three more of them.
Simpson patted me encouragingly on the shoulder.

"You're all right, Billy!" he said, and his praise was music to my ears.
By this time our poor dead mules, who had given their lives for ours, were stuck full of arrows.