with
the enemy.

The men in the center with "Indian" Butler gave back still more. With
cries of victory the Wyoming men pressed forward, firing rapidly, and
continuing to drive the mongrel white force. The rifles were cracking
rapidly, and smoke arose over the two lines. The wind caught wisps of it
and carried them off down the river.

"It goes better than I thought," said Paul as he reloaded his rifle.

"Not yet," said Henry, "we are fighting the white men only. Where are
all the Indians, who alone outnumber our men more than two to one?"

"Here they come," said Shif'less Sol, pointing to the depths of the
swamp, which was supposed to protect the left flank of the Wyoming
force.

The five saw in the spaces, amid the briars and vines, scores of dark
figures leaping over the mud, naked to the breech cloth, armed with
rifle and tomahawk, and rushing down upon the unprotected side of their
foe. The swamp had been but little obstacle to them.

Henry and his comrades gave the alarm at once. As many as possible were
called off immediately from the main body, but they were not numerous
enough to have any effect. The Indians came through the swamp in
hundreds and hundreds, and, as they uttered their triumphant yell,
poured a terrible fire into the Wyoming left flank. The defenders were
forced to give ground, and the English and Tories came on again.

The fire was now deadly and of great volume. The air was filled with
the flashing of the rifles. The cloud of smoke grew heavier, and faces,
either from heat or excitement, showed red through it. The air was
filled with bullets, and the Wyoming force was being cut down fast, as
the fire of more than a thousand rifles converged upon it.

The five at the fringe of the swamp loaded and fired as fast as they
could at the Indian horde, but they saw that it was creeping closer and
closer, and that the hail of bullets it sent in was cutting away
the whole left flank of the defenders. They saw the tall figure of
Timmendiquas, a very god of war, leading on the Indians, with his
fearless Wyandots in a close cluster around him. Colonel John Durkee,
gathering up a force of fifty or sixty, charged straight at the
warriors, but he was killed by a withering volley, which drove his men
back.

Now occurred a fatal thing, one of those misconceptions which often
decide the fate of a battle. The company of Captain Whittlesey, on the
extreme left, which was suffering most severely, was orde