They unavoidably fell behind in such a trial of speed, but when they saw the Apache about to reach out his hand to grasp the fugitive, two shots were fired almost simultaneously at him.
They were intended to kill, too, for the Kiowas, who were actuated by no love for the despairing white boy, felt that they could afford to give him this temporary respite.

They were certain of their own ability to step in and pluck the prize at the very moment it might seem to be beyond their reach.

Rather curiously, however, neither of the shots did what was intended.

One of them missed the Apache altogether, and the other only slightly wounded him.
As it was, however, the pursuing warrior was dumbfounded, and he stopped as suddenly as if smitten by a bolt from heaven.

Leaving his mustang to look out for himself, he darted to the opposite side of the ravine from that taken by the lad, for the purpose of securing cover before a second volley could be fired.
Fred heard the report of the rifle-shots, and sup posed that he was the target and that they had been fired by Waukko and his companion.
Instead of stopping to ascertain, he continued his flight with all the desperation of combined hope and despair.
A few seconds sufficed to carry him across the ravine, and among the rocks, boulders, and stunted growth.