Sam, the guard, was down, whether dead or only wounded they
did not know. All of them were wounded, and Tom's left arm hung useless
at his side. They had no time to load their revolvers, and, with the last
shot fired, drew their sharp hunting knives and fought like cornered
wildcats. Eyes bloodshot, the odor of blood and sweat in their nostrils,
they time and again flung back the leaping, yelling hordes pressing in on
them.
But there is a limit to human endurance, and their arms were beginning to
weaken, their aim to be less certain. Then suddenly the fierce attack
wavered and weakened. To their dazed senses came the noise of rifle
shots, and the sound of a bugle's strident note. Before they could
realize that help had at last arrived the Indians had broken away and
with wild yells were making for their horses. A detachment of cavalry set
out in pursuit, while the commanding officer and his staff rode over to
the exhausted defenders.
As they rode they looked wonderingly at the numbers of Indians scattered
over the bloodsoaked ground. They galloped up to where the defenders, or
what remained of them, lay panting on the ground, ringed about by a
circle of those who had fallen by their hands.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185