Just then the sharp staccato of rifle-shots mingled with the whooping of the Indians.

Buddy was reaching for the saddle horn when the brown horse ducked and jerked loose.

Before Buddy realized what was happening the brown horse, the herd and all the riders were pounding away down the valley, the men firing back at the cottonwoods.
In the dust and clamor of their departure Buddy stood perfectly still for a minute, trying to grasp the full significance of his calamity.
Step-and-a-Half had packed hastily and departed ahead of them all.

His father and the cowboys were watching the cottonwood grove many rods to Buddy's right and well in the background, and they would not glance his way.

Even if they did they would not see him, and if they saw him it would be madness to ride back--though there was not a man among them who would not have wheeled in his tracks and returned for Buddy in the very face of Colorou and his band.
From the cottonwoods came the pound of galloping hoofs.