fety to
themselves.

The firing was now hot and incessant on both sides, but particularly on
the part of the Regulators, who, inspired by success, but still prudently
avoiding all unnecessary exposure of their persons, pressed their enemies
with a spirit from which Roland now for the first time drew the happiest
auguries. Their stirring hurrahs bespoke a confidence in the result of
the fray, infinitely cheering to his spirits; and he forgot his tortures,
which from the many frantic struggles he had made to force the thong from
his wrists, drawing it at each still further into his flesh, were now
almost insupportable, when, amid the din of firing and yelling, he heard
Tom Bruce cry aloud to his companions, "Now, boys! one more crack, and
then for rifle-butt, knife, and hatchet!" It seemed, indeed, as if the
heavy losses the Indians had sustained, had turned the scale of battle
entirely in favour of the Kentuckians. It was evident even to Roland,
that the former, although yelling and shouting with as much apparent
vigour as ever, were gradually giving ground before the latter, and
retreating towards their former lairs; while he could as clearly
perceive, from Bruce's expressions, that the intrepid Kentuckian was
actually preparing to execute the very measure that had caused such loss
to his enemies, and which, being thus resolved on, showed his confidence
of victory. "Ready, boys!" he heard him shout again, and even nigher than
before;--"take the shoot with full pieces, and let the skirmudgeons have
it handsome!"

At that conjuncture, and just when Forrester caught his breath with
intense and devouring expectation, an incident occurred which entirely
changed the face of affairs, and snatched the victory from the hands of
the Kentuckians. The gallant Bruce, thus calling upon his followers to
prepare for the charge, had scarce uttered the words recorded, before
a voice, lustier even than his own, bellowed from a bush immediately on
his rear,--"Take it like a butcher's bull-dog, tooth and nail!--knife
and skull-splitter, foot and finger, give it to 'em every
way,--cock-a-doodle-doo!"

At these words, coming from a quarter and from an ally entirely
unexpected, young Bruce looked behind him and beheld, emerging from a
hazel bush, through which it had just forced its way, the visage of
Roaring Ralph Stackpole, its natural ugliness greatly increased by
countless scratches and spots of blood, the result of his leap down the
l