d or talked of backing. They did
not even think of surrender. It would have been too late to sue for
mercy, had they been so inclined.

But they were not. Attacked without provocation, and treacherously, as
they had been, their fury was stronger than their fear; and anger now
nerved them to frenzied energy of action.

The savages had already closed around the waggons, clustering upon the
wheels, some like snakes, wriggling through the spaces left undefended.
Rifles ceased to ring; but pistols cracked--repeating pistols, that
dealt death at every shot, sending redskin after redskin to the happy
hunting grounds. And by the pistol's flash blades were seen gleaming
through the smoke--now bright, anon dimmed, and dripping blood.

For every white man that fell, at least three red ones went down upon
the sand.

The unequal contest could not long continue. Scarce ten minutes did it
last, and but for the obscuring smoke five would have finished it. This
was in favour of the assailed, enabling them to act with advantage
against the assailants. Such a quick, wholesale slaughter did the white
men make with their revolvers that the savages, surprised and staggered
by it, for a moment recoiled, and appeared as if again going to retreat.

They did not--they dared not. Their superior numbers--the shame of
being defeated by such a handful of foes--the glory of conquest--and,
added to it, an angry vengeance now hot in their hearts--all urged them
on; and the attack was renewed with greater earnestness than ever.

Throughout every scene in the strife Frank Hamersley had comported
himself with a courage that made his men feel less fear of death, and
less regret to die by his side. Fighting like a lion, he had been here,
and there, and everywhere. He had done his full share of slaving.

It was all in vain. Though standing in the midst of thick smoke,
unseeing and unseen, he knew that most of his faithful men had fallen.
He was admonished of this by their less frequent responses to his cries
of encouragement, telling him the struggle was close upon its
termination. No wonder his fury was fast giving place to despair. But
it was no craven fear, nor any thought of escape. His determination not
to be taken alive was strong as ever.

His hand still firmly clasped his bowie-knife, its blade dripping with
the blood of more than one enemy; for into the body of more than one had
he plunged it. He clutched it with the determina