, dire peril nerving
him to desperate effort. His comrades veered at his cry for help and
glanced back over their shoulders. One, unnerved at sight of the dashing
foemen in pursuit, clapped spurs again, and bending low, rode madly on.
The other, gallant fellow! reined about in wide, sweeping circle, and
turned back to meet his running comrade. They saw him bend to lend a
helping hand, saw him bend still lower as three of the Indians leaped
from their ponies and, kneeling, loosed their rifles all at once; saw
him topple out of saddle, and his stricken horse, with flapping rein,
trot aimlessly about a moment before he, too, went floundering in his
tracks; saw the other soldier turn to face his fate by his dying
comrade's side, fighting to the last, overwhelmed and borne down by the
rush of red warriors. Strong men turned aside in agony, unable to look
on and see the rest--the brutal, pitiless clubbing and stabbing, the
fearful hacking of lance and knife--but others still, in the fascination
of horror, gazed helplessly through the smoke drifting upward from the
blazing loopholes, and once a feeble cheer broke forth as one shot took
effect and a yelling Indian stretched out dead upon the sward. Then for
a brief moment all eyes centered on the sole survivor who came sweeping
down the slope, straight for the stockade. Almost it seemed as though he
might yet escape, despite the fact that his horse, too, was lurching and
stumbling and his pursuers were gaining rapidly, defiant of the fire of
the little fort. Reckless of order and discipline, a dozen soldiers
nearest the gate rushed out upon the open bench, shouting encouragement
and sending long range, chance shots. But with every stride the fleeing
steed grew weaker, stumbled painfully and slackened speed, and soon they
saw him slowing down despite the frantic jabbing of the spurs, and with
drooped head and bleeding nostrils giving up the fight. And then, at
sound of the triumphant yells and jeers of his pursuers, the poor wretch
in saddle threw one fearful glance behind him, one despairing look
toward the comrades and the refuge still a quarter of a mile away, and
with shaking hand he turned the brown revolver on his own temple and
pulled trigger, and then went tumbling earthward, a corpse. There at
least was one scalp the Sioux could covet in vain, for with shouts of
vengeance, the little squad of infantry, deaf to all orders or the
clamor of the bugle recall, dashed out over