ittle band had fired its last
shot. Now they skulked timorously, but then they might walk upright
and glut their fiendish lust for blood.

Twice during that long night volunteers sought vainly to pierce those
lines of savage watchers. A long wailing cry of agony from out the
thick darkness told the fate of their first messenger, while Casey, of
the "X L," crept slowly, painfully back, with an Indian bullet embedded
deep in his shoulder. Just before the coming of dawn, Hampton, without
uttering a word, calmly turned up the collar of his tightly buttoned
coat, so as better to conceal the white collar he wore, gripped his
revolver between his teeth, and crept like some wriggling snake among
the black rocks and through the dense underbrush in search after water.
By some miracle of divine mercy he was permitted to pass unscathed, and
came crawling back, a dozen hastily filled canteens dangling across his
shoulders. It was like nectar to those parched, feverish throats; but
of food barely a mouthful apiece remained in the haversacks.

The second day dragged onward, its hours bringing no change for the
better, no relief, no slightest ray of hope. The hot sun scorched them
pitilessly, and two of the wounded died delirious. From dawn to dark
there came no slackening of the savage watchfulness which held the
survivors helpless behind their coverts. The merest uplifting of a
head, the slightest movement of a hand, was sufficient to demonstrate
how sharp were those savage eyes. No white man in the short
half-circle dared to waste a single shot now; all realized that their
stock of ammunition was becoming fearfully scant, yet those scheming
devils continually baited them to draw their fire.

Another long black night followed, during which, for an hour or so in
turn, the weary defenders slept, tossing uneasily, and disturbed by
fearful dreams. Then gray and solemn, amid the lingering shadows of
darkness, dawned the third dread day of unequal conflict. All
understood that it was destined to be their last on this earth unless
help came. It seemed utterly hopeless to protract the struggle, yet
they held on grimly, patiently, half-delirious from hunger and thirst,
gazing into each other's haggard faces, almost without recognition,
every man at his post. Then it was that old Gillis received his
death-wound, and the solemn, fateful whisper ran from lip to lip along
the scattered line that only five cartridges remained.

For