l of the swamp robin. He hurried toward his friend.
Solomon was in a thicket of tamaracks.

"We got to git back quick," said the latter. "I see sign o' an ambush."

They hurried to their command and warned the General. He halted and
faced his men about and began a retreat. Jack and Solomon hurried out
ahead of them some twenty rods apart. In five minutes Jack heard
Solomon's call again. Thoroughly alarmed, he ran in the direction of
the sound. In a moment he met Solomon. The face of the latter had
that stern look which came only in a crisis. Deep furrows ran across
his brow. His hands were shut tight. There was an expression of anger
in his eyes. He swallowed as Jack came near.

"It's an ambush sure as hell's ahead," he whispered.

As they were hurrying toward the regiment, he added:

"We got to fight an' ag'in' big odds--British an' Injuns. Don't never
let yerself be took alive, my son, lessen ye want to die as Scott did.
But, mebbe, we kin bu'st the circle."

In half a moment they met Herkimer.

"Git ready to fight," said Solomon. "We're surrounded."

The men were spread out in a half-circle and some hurried orders given,
but before they could take a step forward the trap was sprung. "The
Red Devils of Brant" were rushing at them through the timber with yells
that seemed to shake the tree-tops. The regiment fired and began to
advance. Some forty Indians had fallen as they fired. General
Herkimer and others were wounded by a volley from the savages.

"Come on, men. Foller me an' use yer bayonets," Solomon shouted.
"We'll cut our way out."

The Indians ahead had no time to load. Scores of them were run
through. Others fled for their lives. But a red host was swarming up
from behind and firing into the regiment. Many fell. Many made the
mistake of turning to fight back and were overwhelmed and killed or
captured. A goodly number had cut their way through with Jack and
Solomon and kept going, swapping cover as they went. Most of them were
wounded in some degree. Jack's right shoulder had been torn by a
bullet. Solomon's left hand was broken and bleeding. The savages were
almost on their heels, not two hundred yards behind. The old scout
rallied his followers in a thicket at the top of a knoll with an open
grass meadow between them and their enemies. There they reloaded their
rifles and stood waiting.

"Don't fire--not none o' ye--till I give the word. Jack, you take my
rifle.