aiting the
arrival of their companions. The Indians comprehended the state of things
and sagaciously resolved to make a simultaneous charge, before the
trappers should have opportunity to replenish their powder-horns and
bullet-pouches.

There was a distance of many rods between the two contending parties. The
ground was mainly level, and there was no underbrush to intercept the
view. The trappers saw and understood the movement for the charge. Every
man was prepared, with his loaded rifle and revolver. On came the Indians,
dodging, as they could, from tree to tree, but with an impetuosity of
onset which excited the admiration of their opponents. The forest
resounded with their shrill war-whoop. Carson requested every man to
withhold his fire until sure of his aim. "Let not a single shot," said he,
"be lost." It was a fearful moment, for upon that moment depended the life
of every man in the party. Should the outnumbering Indians succeed in
passing the narrow intervening space, the trappers would inevitably be
overpowered and from the spear-heads of the savages, forty-three scalps
would be waved as the banners of their victory.

There was no simultaneous discharge but a rattling fire, occupying perhaps
sixty seconds. Forty-three Indian warriors were struck by the bullets.
Eleven fell instantly dead; the others were more or less crippled by
their wounds. Still the brave Indians rushed on, when suddenly there was
opened upon them another deadly fire from the revolvers. This was a
reinforcement of the strength of their foes which the savages had not
anticipated. They hesitated, staggered as if smitten by a heavy blow, and
then slowly and sullenly retreated, until they were far beyond pistol
range. Some of the mountaineers were on horseback to carry swift aid to
any imperilled comrade. Kit Carson was also mounted and with his eagle eye
was watching every act of his little army.

One of his aids, a mountaineer by the name of Cotton, was thrown from his
horse, which slipped upon some smooth stones, and fell upon his rider,
fastening him helpless to the ground. Six Indians near by rushed, with
exultant yells and gleaming tomahawks, for his scalp. Kit Carson, calling
on two or three to follow him, sprang from his horse and with the speed of
an antelope was by the side of his fallen comrade. The crack of his rifle
was instantly heard; the foremost of the savages gave one convulsive
bound, uttered a death cry and fell weltering