nsanguined knife
to Wingrove; "take this weapon for want of a better. Let us on! See!
the _picaros_ are making off. _Vamos! nos vamonos_!"

The incident had delayed us but for a very short while--perhaps not half
a minute; but as we returned to the charging gallop, most of our party
had passed us; and the foremost were already within rifle range, and
opening fire upon the Arapahoes.

CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT.

THE CHARGE.

The horsemen who had forged ahead, for a while, hindered me from seeing
the enemy. The Utahs had halted, and were discharging their guns. The
smoke from their shots shrouded both allies and enemies; but, from the
fact of a halt having been made, I presumed the Arapahoes were making
stand by the butte. It was not so. After the first round of shots, the
firing ceased; and the Utahs again went charging onward.

The Arapahoes had given way, and were fleeing down the valley. There
they must meet Wa-ka-ra. And this or something like it, was their
intention. With the four divisions closing upon them from all sides at
once, they saw there was no chance of saving themselves--except by
making a desperate charge on some one singly, in the hope of causing it
to yield, and thus open for them a way of escape. They had no
difficulty in making choice of which they should meet. The band of
Wa-ka-ra was between them and their own country. It was the direction
in which they must ultimately retreat; and this decided them to take
down the valley.

A slight swell in the plain, which we were at that moment crossing, gave
me a view of the retreating Arapahoes. In the distance, I could see the
band of Wa-ka-ra advancing towards them at full speed. In a few seconds
would meet in shivering charge these mortal foes.

The Utahs of our party were urging their horses to utmost speed.
Well-mounted as were myself and companions, we were unable to overtake
them. Those that came from right and left had suddenly swerved from
their course; and in two converging lines were sweeping down the valley
to the assistance of their chief. We passed close under the edge of the
butte. In the excitement of the chase, I had almost forgotten to look
up--when a shrill shout recalled to my memory the captive on the cross.
The cry came from the summit--from Sure-shot himself. Thank Heaven! he
lived!

"Hooza! hoozay!" shouted the voice. "Heaving speed yees, whos'ever ye
be! Hooza! hoozay! Arter the verming, an' gie 'em gos