ering horse stood flicking his
long tail at a red seam in his silky coat where one bullet at least had
scored its way, and Cranston bade him take his horse--and no more such
fool chances--and get under cover straightway.

But now in falling back the skirmish line had made an irregular half
wheel to the southward with a flying pivot toward the village, and the
Indians were darting or crawling out south of the tepees so as to get
an enfilading fire on the line. Cranston's quick eyes saw the danger and
warned his right skirmishers. "Back there! Fall back, you men! Run for
it!" he shouted; and to the jeering rage of the Indians the run began,
the men halting and refacing the village as soon as beyond danger of
flank fire, and then came still another excitement. Even while falling
steadily back, with wary eyes on the smoking lodge lines, the men at the
right became suddenly aware of a rush of several Indians to the point
where the troop had re-formed after its initial charge. "They're making
for the timber," was the first cry, for a few scattered, stunted trees
grew along the low ridge. Then came a yell from the rear, from the
sergeant in charge of the led horses.

"It's one of our men lying there wounded. For God's sake save him!" and
that was enough. Every carbine along the line was brought to bear on the
stooping, crouching, scurrying warriors who had ventured so far out from
the sheltering tepees. Obedient to Davies's order, Brannan and two or
three men in saddle left the wounded to take care of themselves, and
spurred headlong across the prairie to the scene, and Cranston, catching
sight of the affair at the same instant, waved his cap in eager signal,
while his voice, now hoarse and choked, could hardly be heard in the
order "By the right flank." Truman's column of fours, reappearing at the
instant at the north, but well to the westward of the village, could not
imagine what that distant manoeuvre meant, but it was no time to ask
questions. "Gallop" was the order, and down they came. And so it
happened that barely twenty minutes after the first shot was fired the
comrade troops of the Eleventh were once more united, and, facing nearly
north, were in furious fight with an overwhelming force of Indians,
while Chrome, turning deaf ear to Sanders's supplications, was vainly
striving to round up a galloping herd of several hundred ponies full
three miles away. Picking up the body of Sergeant Grant, saved from
scalping and