t-car, with sides about
four feet high, made of such thick oak planking that bullets did
not penetrate it. Besides himself and Larry there were half a dozen
soldiers, all kneeling at little port-holes. Neale peeped over the rim.
In a long thinned-out line the Sioux were circling round the train,
hiding on the off sides of their mustangs, and shooting from these
difficult positions. They were going at full speed, working in closer.
A bullet, striking the rim of the car and showering splinters in Neale's
face, attested to the fact that the Sioux were still to be feared, even
from a moving fort. Neale dropped back and, reloading his rifle, found a
hole from which to shoot. He emptied his magazine before he realized
it. But what with his trembling hands, the jerking of the train, and the
swift motion of the Indians, he did not do any harm to the foe.

Suddenly, with a jolt, the train halted.

"Blocked ag'in, b'gorra," said Casey, calmly. "Me pipe's out. Sandy,
gimme a motch."

The engine whistled two shrill blasts.

"What's that for?" asked Neale, quickly.

"Them's for the men in the foist car to pile over the engine an' remove
obstruchtions from the track," replied Casey.

Neale dared to risk a peep over the top of the car. The Sioux were
circling closer to the front of the train. All along a half-dozen cars
ahead of Neale puffs of smoke and jets of flame shot out. Heavy volleys
were being fired. The attack of the savages seemed to be concentrating
forward, evidently to derail the engine or kill the engineer.

Casey pulled Neale down. "Risky fer yez," he said. "Use a port-hole an'
foight."

"My shells are gone," replied Neale.

He lay well down in the car then, and listened to the uproar, and
watched the Irish trio. When the volleys and the fiendish yells mingled
he could not hear anything else. There were intervals, however, when the
uproar lulled for a moment.

Casey got his black pipe well lit, puffed a cloud of smoke, and picked
up his rifle.

"Drill, ye terriers, drill!" he sang, and shoved his weapon through a
port-hole. He squinted, over the breech.

"Mac, it's the same bunch as attacked us day before yisteddy," he
observed.

"It shure ain't," replied McDermott. "There's a million of thim to-day."

He aimed his rifle as if following a moving object, and fired.

"Mac, you git excited in a foight. Now I niver do. An' I've seen thot
pinto hoss an' thot dom' redskin a lot of times. I'll kill him yit."