Opening the Iron Trail by Edwin L. Sabin

WITH a terrific jar Terry landed far in the brush and went ploughing and rolling, topsy-turvy. He thought that he heard Shep yelp (as if Shep had landed, too, somewhere); then he brought up, in a heap, wedged at the bottom of a little wash.

He lay without moving, listening and wondering if any bones were broken. No; he seemed to be all right. But there were chases, through the brush, in the darkness; the Indians were riding hither-thither, shouting and shooting. He heard it all -- the shots, the yells of triumph, a groan or two. The Indians were killing the handcar men!