ke in."

Rezin Bowie had no thought of dropping him, but eight of the Indians
were hot after, with tomahawks. Led by Jim, out charged the Texans,
firing; they killed four of the Indians, scattered the others, and
rescued Rezin and Dave. Dave was badly hurt, but not fatally. Rezin's
hunting-shirt was cut in several places; he himself was unharmed.

The Texans formed a half circle, fronting the enemy. The most of the
Indians had disappeared, in the grass and chaparral. For about five
minutes there was no shooting. Then, on a sudden, the yells burst
forth from a new quarter. A little hill to the northwest, across the
creek, was "red with Indians." The Texans shifted front slightly, to
meet the attack; the bullets and arrows pelted in and the Texan ball
and buck-shot replied.

A chief upon a horse was riding back and forth, urging his warriors to
charge. His words sounded plainly.

"Who's loaded?" cried Jim Bowie, as he rammed the powder into his gun,
and most of the men seemed to be doing likewise.

"I am." That was Caephus Ham.

"Then shoot that chief yonder."

Caephus drew careful bead, and fired. It was long range, but the
chief's pony fell kicking and the chief hopped wildly about on one leg.
The ball had passed through his other leg and killed the pony. He
tried to cover himself with his shield and his struggling horse; four
Texan rifles spoke together--every ball plumped into the shield, he
crumpled in a heap, his warriors hustled to bear off his body and other
bullets caught some of them, also.

So far the honors of war were with the Bowie men. The Indians
scampered to the safe side of the hill. What next? On a sudden, led
by another chief, the Indians again swarmed into sight, at the same
place. The chief was yelling:

"Forward! Forward! Kill the Texans!"

"I'll stop your gab," muttered Jim Bowie. He aimed, touched trigger,
killed this second chief.

That infuriated the Indians. They dared not charge the grove, but they
deluged it with lead and arrows; the few white men answered rapidly.
Without warning, bullets and shafts spattered in from another angle.

"Look out! They're flanking us!" Captain Bowie shouted. "They're in
the creek bed."

So they were; a party of them had gained the banks of the creek, on the
west. The men at that end of the line turned, and ran, stooping, to
face the attack. Matt Doyle was fatally shot, through the breast. Tom
McCaslin, springing to drag