ir faces, arms, and bodies frightfully painted,
each after his own device, and all as hideous as savage conception can
suggest. The visages of bears, wolves, and other fierce animals, are
depicted on their breasts and shields--with the still more horrid
emblems of the death's head, the cross-bones, and the red-hand. Even
their horses are covered with similar devices--stained upon their skins
in ochre, charcoal, and vermilion! The sight is too fearful to be
fantastic. On they come, uttering their wild "Howgh-owgh-aloo!"
brandishing their various weapons, and making their shields of
_parfleche_ rattle by repeated strokes against their clubs and spears--
on comes the angry avalanche!

They are within a hundred yards of the butte. For a moment we are in
doubt. If they charge up the declivity, we are lost men. We may shoot
down the foremost; but they are twenty to one. In a hand-to-hand
struggle, we shall be overwhelmed--killed or captured--in less than
sixty seconds of time!

"Hold your fire!" I cried, seeing my comrades lie with their cheeks
against their guns; "not yet! only two at a time--but not yet! Ha! as I
expected."

And just as I had expected, the wild ruck came to a halt--those in the
lead drawing up their horses, as suddenly as if they had arrived upon
the edge of a precipice! They had come to a stand just in the nick of
time. Had they advanced but five paces further, at least two of their
number would have tumbled out of their saddles. Sure-shot and I had
each selected our man, and agreed upon the signal to fire. The others
were ready to follow. All four barrels resting over the rampart had
caught the eyes of the Indians. A glance at the glistening tubes was
sufficient. True to their old tactics, it was the sight of these that
had halted them!

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

THE RED-HAND.

The whooping and screaming are for a while suspended. Those in the rear
have ridden up; and the straggling cavalcade becomes massed upon the
plain, at less than two hundred yards' distance from the butte. Shouts
are still heard, and talking in an unknown tongue; but not the dread
war-cry. That has failed of its effect, and is heard no longer. Now
and then, young warriors gallop toward the butte, vaunt their valour,
brandish their weapons, shoot off their arrows, and threaten us by word
and gesture. All, however, keep well outside the perilous circumference
covered by our guns.

We perceive that they,