farther to the front and to the right, where the ridge was a
little higher. Every man knew that just ahead of him, over that curtain,
lay in overwhelming force the mass of their red enemies. Not one of
their rank had yet set eyes on the point of attack. Not one man knew how
many lodges, much less how many braves, would leap into view the instant
they went bounding over the crest; yet not a soul faltered, for, turning
with confident, eager mien, their captain signalled come on, and Davies
ordered "Trot!"

"It's all right, lads," cheerily rang Cranston's voice, as he rode
circling down to place himself at their head. "The ground's open and
level. We can go through like a blizzard. Draw pistol! Now, not a sound
till I say charge, but take the pace from me."

Up the gentle slope they go, many horses already plunging and tugging at
their bits, the glorious excitement of the rider communicating itself,
as it must and will where horse and man are in sympathy. Right behind
Cranston rides his second sergeant commanding the second platoon, the
streaming guidon, lowered still, a little to his left and rear. Already
the men are opening out a trifle, for this is to be no charge upon
serried masses of disciplined troops, no crash of cavalry upon cavalry,
where the line which rides with the greater impetus, the closer touch,
the more accurate alignment, hurls the greater shock and weight upon the
foe. Here no naked sabre flames in air,--a useless blade in Indian
battle,--but all through the plunging rank are keen old campaigners
whose eyes blaze from underneath the slouching hat brims, whose muscular
brown hands grasp the pistol butt, who ride with close gripping thighs,
for well they know that once over the crest, "gallop" and "charge" will
follow in quick succession, and there will be but an instant in which to
see and think or plan. Indeed, from a cavalry point of view it really is
not a charge at all, not even a charge as foragers, but rather a wild
dash into and through a straggling, swarming village of Indian lodges,
every man for himself when once turned loose, the whole object being to
carry terror, panic, and confusion to the half-waking warriors, and so
cover the major's main effort, which is to whirl away with him every
pony in the valley. This done the red renegades are crippled for good
and all, and their outbreak is at an end.

All eyes are on Cranston's gallant troop then as it goes sweeping up the
gentle slope. Alrea