horse, blowing his silver whistle to call his men to attack. His
riflemen poured fire into Shelby's contingent, but meanwhile the
frontiersmen on the other sides were creeping up, and presently a circle
of fire burst upon the hill. With fixed bayonets, some of Ferguson's men
charged down the face of the slope, against the advancing foe, only
to be shot in the back as they charged. Still time and time again
they charged; the overhill men reeled and retreated; but always their
comrades took toll with their rifles; Ferguson's men, preparing for a
mounted charge, were shot even as they swung to their saddles. Ferguson,
with his customary indifference to danger, rode up and down in front of
his line blowing his whistle to encourage his men. "Huzza, brave boys!
The day is our own!" Thus he was heard to shout above the triumphant war
whoops of the circling foe, surging higher and higher about the hill.

But there were others in his band who knew the fight was lost. The
overmountain men saw two white handkerchiefs, axed to bayonets, raised
above the rocks; and then they saw Ferguson dash by and slash them down
with his sword. Two horses were shot under Ferguson in the latter part
of the action; but he mounted a third and rode again into the thick of
the fray. Suddenly the cry spread among the attacking troops that
the British officer, Tarleton, had come to Ferguson's rescue; and the
mountaineers began to give way. But it was only the galloping horses of
their own comrades; Tarleton had not come. Nolichucky Jack spurred out
in front of his men and rode along the line. Fired by his courage they
sounded the war whoop again and renewed the attack with fury.

"These are the same yelling devils that were at Musgrove's Mill," said
Captain De Peyster to Ferguson.

Now Shelby and Sevier, leading his Wataugans, had reached the summit.
The firing circle pressed in. The buckskin-shirted warriors leaped the
rocky barriers, swinging their tomahawks and long knives. Again the
white handkerchiefs fluttered. Ferguson saw that the morale of his
troops was shattered.

"Surrender," De Peyster, his second in command, begged of him.

"Surrender to those damned banditti? Never!"

Ferguson turned his horse's head downhill and charged into the
Wataugans, hacking right and left with his sword till it was broken at
the hilt. A dozen rifles were leveled at him. An iron muzzle pushed at
his breast, but the powder flashed in the pan. He swerved and st