den hail, were forced to withdraw behind our
ramparts.

A moment of suspense followed. We knew not how to act: we were puzzled
by their movements, as well as by the silence in which they were making
them. Did they intend to climb up the butte, and openly attack us?
What else should be their design? What other object could they have in
surrounding it? Only about a dozen had approached under cover of the
waggon. Was it likely that so few of them would assail us boldly and
openly? No. Beyond a doubt, they had some other design! Ha! what
means that blue column slowly curling upward? It is smoke! See!
Another and another--a dozen of them! From all sides they shoot upward,
encircling the mound! Hark to those sounds! the "swish" of burning
grass--the crackle of kindling sticks? They are making fires around us!
The columns are at first filmy, but soon grow thicker and more dense.
They spread out and join each other--they become attracted towards the
rocky mass--they fall against its sides, and wreathing upward, wrap its
summit in their ramifications. The platform is enveloped in the cloud!
We see the savages upon the plain--dimly, as if through a crape. Those
with the guns in their hands still continue to fire; the others are
dismounting. The latter abandon their horses, and appear to be
advancing on foot. Their forms through the magnifying mist loom
spectral and gigantic! They are visible only for a moment. The smoke
rolls its thick volume around the summit, and shrouds them from our
sight. We no longer see our enemy or the earth. The sky is obscured--
even the rock on which we stand is no longer visible, nor one of us to
the other!

Throughout all continues the firing from the plain; the bullets hurtle
around our heads, and the clamour of our foemen reaches our ears with
fierce thrilling import. We hear the crackling of faggots, and the
spurting hissing noise of many fires; but perceive no blaze--only the
thick smoke rising in continuous waves, and every moment growing denser
around us. We can bear it no longer; we are half-suffocated. Any form
of death before this! Is it too late to reach our horses? Doubtless,
they are already snatched away? No matter: we cannot remain where we
are. In five minutes, we must yield to the fearful asphyxia.

"No! never! let us die as we had determined, with arms in our hands!"
Voices husky and hoarse make answer in the affirmative.

We spring to our feet, and co