Etzeeah got his blanket, and he and Alary rode out of the square. The
Indians stirred and muttered angrily, but the blue eyes still held them
chained. When Mary's "All right!" reached his ears, Jack turned his
horse, and, swinging himself sidewise with a thigh over the saddle,
walked out of the square, watching them still. The theatrical instinct
of a young man suggested rolling a cigarette to him. Slipping his arm
through the bridle rein, he got out the bag of tobacco and the papers.
At a hundred yards distance the spell that held the Indians began to
break, and they moved forward between the tepees, cursing Jack, and
brandishing their arms. Jack's horse started forward; pulling him in,
he moistened the cigarette, watching them still. Guns were raised at
last--and fired. Still Jack walked his horse. He could see that as
yet the gun-play was merely to save themselves in the eyes of their
women. No bullets came in his direction. But he could not tell how
long---- He lit his cigarette.
A bullet whined overhead. Another ploughed up a little cascade of
earth alongside, and his horse sheered off. A chorus of maniacal yells
was raised behind him. It was only fifteen yards to the trees. Jack
threw away the cigarette, and gave the horse his head. They gained the
forest, with the bullets thudding deep into the trunks on either side.