do. He raised his long pistol, but Pawnee Brown's stern threat rang in his ears and he hesitated about using the weapon, having no desire to be laid low.
"After him, men!" he roared, upon recovering his wits. "We must capture him!"
"Shall we fire, cap n?" came from several, and a number of shining pistol barrels were levelled toward the great scout.
"N—no, capture him alive," came the hesitating reply; and away went the calvarymen at a breakneck speed in pursuit.
Looking back over his shoulder, Pawnee saw them coming. To lessen the chances of being shot, he bent low over his faithful mare's neck.
"On, Bonnie, on!" he cried softly, and the beautiful animal seemed to understand that it was a race for life and death.
"Crack!" It was the report of a pistol close at hand. Looking among the trees, Pawnee Brown saw an arm wearing the colors of a cavalryman disappearing among the foliage of a nearby tree. He aimed his own weapon and pulled the trigger. A yell of pain followed.
The marksman had been Tucker, the fellow hired to take the great scout's life. Tucker had been on picket duty for the cavalry troop, but had failed to
