Lipan made his pony bound
from side to side in such a manner that he could not secure a good aim.
But his chance came. The Lipan raised his head and opened his mouth to
utter a great shout of encouragement to his followers. The shout did not
pass his lips, because Ned's bullet struck him squarely in the forehead,
and he fell backward from his horse, dead before he touched the ground.

Ned heard Obed's rifle crack with his own, but he could not turn his
head to see the result. He snatched up his pistol and fired a second
shot which severely wounded a Lipan rider, and then all three parties of
the Lipans, fearing the formidable hedge, turned and galloped back,
leaving two of their number lifeless upon the ground.

Obed had not fired his pistol, but he stood holding it in his hand, his
eyes flashing with grim triumph. Ned was rapidly reloading his rifle.

"If we didn't burn their noble Lipan faces then I'm mightily mistaken,"
said Obed, as he too began to reload his rifle. "A charge that is not
pressed home is no charge at all. Hark, what is that?"

There was a sudden crash of rifle shots in the forest, the long whining
whoop of the Lipans and then hard upon it a deep hoarse cheer.

"White men!" exclaimed Ned.

"And Texans!" said Obed. "Such a roar as that never came from Mexican
throats. It's friends! Do you hear, Ned, it's friends! There go the
Indians!"

Across the far edge of the open went the Lipans in wild flight, and, as
they pressed their mustangs for more speed, bullets urged them to
efforts yet greater. Fifteen or twenty men galloped from the trees, and
Ned and Obed, breaking cover, greeted them with joyous shouts, which the
men returned in kind.

"You don't come to much," exclaimed Ned, "but we can say to you that
never were men more welcome."

"Which I beg to repeat and emphasize," said Obed White.

"Speak a little louder," said the foremost of the men, leaning from his
horse and couching one hand behind his ear.

Ned repeated his words in a much stronger tone, and the man nodded and
smiled. Ned looked at him with the greatest interest. He was of middle
age and medium size. Hair and eyes were intensely black, and his
complexion was like dark leather. Dressed in Indian costume he could
readily have passed for a warrior. Yet this man had come from the far
northern state of New York, and it was only the burning suns of the
Texas and North Mexican plains that had turned him to his present
darkness.