f a second meant death.

Johnson had exchanged five shots with a fine-looking Cheyenne, and every
time he raised his eye to a level with the rock White Antelope's gun
winked at him.

"You will get killed directly," yelled Lannon to Johnson; "they have you
spotted."

The smoke blew and eddied over them; again Johnson rose, and again White
Antelope's pistol cracked an accompaniment to his own; but with movement
like lightning the sergeant sprang through the smoke, and fairly shoving
his carbine to White Antelope's breast, he pulled the trigger. A
50-calibre gun boomed in Johnson's face, and a volley roared from the
pits, but he fell backward into cover. His comrades set him up to see if
any red stains came through the grime, but he was unhurt.

[Illustration: 17 THIS TIME THE AIR GREW CLEAR]

The firing grew; a blue haze hung over the hill. Johnson again looked
across the glacis, but again his eye met the savage glare of White
Antelope.

"I haven't got him yet, Lannon, but I will;" and Sergeant Johnson again
slowly reloaded his pistol and carbine.

"Now, men, give them a volley!" ordered the enraged man, and as volley
answered volley, through the smoke sprang the daring soldier, and
standing over White Antelope as the smoke swirled and almost hid him, he
poured his six balls into his enemy, and thus died one brave man at the
hands of another in fair battle. The sergeant leaped back and lay down
among the men, stunned by the concussions. He said he would do no more.
His mercurial temperament had undergone a change, or, to put it better,
he conceived it to be outrageous to fight these poor people, five
against one. He characterized it as "a d---- infantry fight," and
rising, talked in Sioux to the enemy--asked them to surrender, or they
must otherwise die. A young girl answered him, and said they would like
to. An old woman sprang on her and cut her throat with a dull knife,
yelling meanwhile to the soldiers that "they would never surrender
alive," and saying what she had done.

Many soldiers were being killed, and the fire from the pits grew weaker.
The men were beside themselves with rage. "Charge!" rang through the now
still air from some strong voice, and, with a volley, over the works
poured the troops, with six-shooters going, and clubbed carbines. Yells,
explosions, and amid a whirlwind of smoke the soldiers and Indians
swayed about, now more slowly and quieter, until the smoke eddied away.
Men stood still,