Irish lad, as he strove to
raise him from the ground. But deathly pallor and staring, sightless
eyes were the sole reply. "My God, lieutenant, he's killed outright.
There's no use staying," cried another trooper. "Mount, sir, mount for
God's sake! They'll be on us in a minute." But tugging still at the limp
and lifeless form, Davies did not seem to hear. The fierce clamor of the
charge was receding. Already the second and third platoons had cleared
the village and were reining about and rallying on the flats up-stream.
Already the pony herds, driven full tilt by Canker's squadron, were out
of sight in the dense dust-cloud and could be heard thundering up the
valley. Only a portion of Truman's troop could be dimly seen through the
settling dust, but, worst of all, the warriors recovering from their
panic came rushing from their lodges, and in a moment all would be over
with the struggling little group of blue-coats. Fortunately, they were
at the western skirt of the village, and almost all the rallying braves
were running, rifle in hand, down to the southern edge, the direction of
the chase. Some few, springing upon the scattered ponies left among the
tepees, rode furiously away into the dust-cloud in the hope of
recapturing some of their stampeded stock, and so it happened that,
except for some shrieking women, only one or two Indians appeared aware
of the little knot of troopers still in their midst, but that was more
than enough. Davies's horse, pierced by a rifle bullet, went rolling in
agony upon the ground just as a devoted Irishman was trying to bolster
the almost exhausted officer into saddle, and, luckily for him, Davies
was borne to earth out of the way of the shots that came driving at them
from the surrounding lodges. "Save yourselves," he faintly called to the
remaining men. Already Grant had darted away for help, receiving his
death wound as he rode. Then down came another horse, while Donovan's,
snorting, tore away among the tepees, and then there was help for it.
The little Irishman, Carney, bending low, strove to drag his prostrate
leader, stunned by a kick from his dying horse, around behind the
nearest lodge, when he, too, was sent blindly stumbling forward and
sprawling in the dust, shot through and through from an unseen rifle not
ten feet away, and the gallant fellow never heard the furious cheer with
which "C" Troop came charging back to the rescue.

It is one thing to dash into an Indian village;