teamsters; and when these spoke there came breaks in the flaunting line
that sought to hedge us. The Sioux dropped behind their horses' bodies,
firing as they rode, some with rifles, more with bows and arrows. Most
of our work was done as they topped the rough ground close on our left,
and we saw here a half-dozen bodies lying limp, flat and ragged, though
presently other riders came and dragged them away.

The bow and arrow is no match for the rifle behind barricades; but when
the Sioux got behind us they saw that our barricade was open in the
rear, and at this they whooped and rode in closer. At a hundred yards
their arrows fell extraordinarily close to the mark, and time and again
they spiked our mules and horses with these hissing shafts that quivered
where they struck. They came near breaking our rear in this way, for our
men fell into confusion, the horses and mules plunging and trying to
break away. There were now men leaning on their elbows, blood dripping
from their mouths. There were cries, sounding far away, inconsequent to
us still standing. The whir of many arrows came, and we could hear them
chuck into the woodwork of the wagons, into the leather of saddle and
harness, and now and again into something that gave out a softer,
different sound.

I was crowding a ball down my rifle with its hickory rod when I felt a
shove at my arm and heard a voice at my ear. "Git out of the way,
man--how can I see how to shoot if you bob your head acrost my sights
all the time?"

There stood old Mandy McGovern, her long brown rifle half raised, her
finger lying sophisticatedly along the trigger guard, that she might not
touch the hair trigger. She was as cool as any man in the line, and as
deadly. As I finished reloading, I saw her hard, gray face drop as she
crooked her elbow and settled to the sights--saw her swing as though she
were following a running deer; and then at the crack of her piece I saw
a Sioux drop out of his high-peaked saddle. Mandy turned to the rear.

"Git in here, git in here, son!" I heard her cry. And to my wonder now I
saw the long, lean figure of Andrew Jackson McGovern come forward, a
carbine clutched in his hand, while from his mouth came some sort of
eerie screech of incipient courage, which seemed to give wondrous
comfort to his fierce dam. At about this moment one of the Sioux,
mortally wounded by our fire, turned his horse and ran straight toward
us hard as he could go. He knew that he must