wn and join its garrison, but where was that hope now? Down along the
banks of the Laramie, lashing their bounding ponies, brandishing their
weapons and yelling like mad, a band of Sioux, full forty strong, came
charging at them, splashing through the shallows and scattering out
across their front in the well-known battle tactics. Not an instant was
there to be lost!

"Jump for those rocks, men!" rang Loring's order. "Cut loose your
prisoners, corporal. They must fight for their lives."

But oh, what chance had so few against so many! Springing from saddle,
turning loose their startled, snorting horses, that go tearing away down
the valley, the old hands have jumped for the rocks, and kneeling and
taking deliberate aim, opened fire on the foremost of the foe. A gaudy
warrior goes down in the flood, and a yell goes up to heaven. Another
good shot slays a feather-decked pony and sends his rider sprawling, and
wisely the others veer away to right and left and scurry to more distant
range. But up the slopes to the south still others dart. From three
sides now the Indian bullets are hissing in. In less than four minutes
of sharp, stinging fight, gallant Sergeant Carey is stretched on the
turf, with a shattered elbow, Corporal Burke and two troopers are shot
dead, Loring, with white, set face and a scorching seam along the left
cheek, seizes a dropped carbine and thrusts it into Burleigh's shaking
hands. "Up with you, man!" he cries. "It's your scalp you're fighting
for. Here, take a drink of this," and his filled canteen is glued to
Burleigh's ashen lips. A long pull, a gasp, and hardly knowing what he
does, the recreant officer kneels at the nearmost rock, aims at a
painted savage leaping to the aid of a fallen brother, and the chance
shot, for a marvel, finds its mark, and with a howl the warrior drops
upon the bank.

"Well done, Burleigh!" shouts Loring. "Fire again!"

Hope, or whiskey, or lingering spark of manhood has fired the major's
eye and nerved his hand. With something like a sob, one of Birdsall's
captured crew rolls over to where the young commander is coolly loading
and firing--and despite their heavy loss the stout defense has had its
effect, and the yelling braves are keeping at wider range.

"I'm done for, lieutenant," he moans. "For God's sake lie flat behind
me," and he feebly points to the slope behind their left rear, where
half a dozen Sioux, dismounted, are skipping to the shelter of the
rocks. An