uch feared, were Indians.

"We shall have time to cross and form our camp on the opposite side,
before they can reach us," answered my father. "Tell Mr O'Dwyer to
hurry on the rearmost waggons; but keep cool, my lads; there is no cause
for alarm; for should there be no other ford in the neighbourhood, the
savages cannot cross to attack us on the other side, and we can easily
defend ourselves against any number of assailants."

While Mr Tidey and Dio forded the river, to form the waggons as they
got over, my father and I remained to direct the passage. As they
arrived one after the other, he ordered them to push across without a
moment's delay. I saw that he frequently cast a glance in the direction
in which, from the report sent by Uncle Denis, we expected the Indians
to appear. He retained several of the men not absolutely required to
attend the waggons. The two last had got down to the brink of the
river, when Uncle Denis, who had remained some distance in the rear,
came galloping up.

"The Indians are approaching," he exclaimed; "they will be here before
the waggons are across."

"Push on then, my lads," said my father to the drivers; "we are ready
for them, and if they venture near, they will have to mourn the loss of
some of their braves."

The waggon wheels were in the water, the oxen tugged away, urged on by
their drivers. My father, Uncle Denis and I, with Martin and two other
men, remained behind to protect them until they were safe across. A
little on one side, the bank was somewhat of a cliff-like form of
sufficient height to conceal us when we stooped down from the foe. We
could hear the tramp of the Indians' horses as they galloped on,
doubtlessly supposing that they should soon come on the unprotected rear
of the train, and easily carry off two or three waggons.

We remained motionless until we caught sight of the heads of the leading
horses of the enemy, the chiefs shouting and shrieking as they were
about to dash forward into the stream.

"Now, fire!" cried my father, and half a dozen redskins toppled over
from their saddles.

"Wallop, a-hoo, a-boo, Erin-go-bragh!" shouted Uncle Denis.

We echoed his cries, as, digging spurs into our steeds without stopping
to reload, we threw ourselves on the advancing foe, pistolling some and
cutting down others.

Those who were still on the level ground, and had command of their
horses, seeing the fall of their companions, wheeled round and retreat