all right. But corral, corral!"

The two fugitives arrived, breathless, their animals sweat-covered and
blown. Alas, neither of them was Samuel Lamme, and Samuel Lamme had
not appeared.

"We've lost Lamme!" they shouted. "The Injuns got him, first fire."

"Fetch up that cannon. Unlimber," Captain Bent was shouting.

It was a small brass cannon, but had been so wrapped to protect it from
the sand that the men could scarcely untie the knots. Away galloped
Captain Bent, on his split-ear mule, to encourage the skirmishers'
line. He had to be everywhere at once.

Out yonder the rifles and shot-guns were volleying, as the skirmishers,
slowly retreating, held the Indians off. The leading wagons had turned
broadside to the trail; one by one, or two by two, the other wagons
lurched on--they also turning right and left, their teams inside, and
their fore wheels almost touching the rear wheels of the wagons already
halted. In this way a corral was being formed, in shape of an oval,
with an opening at the end, for the caballada to enter.

That was desperate work. Around and around scurried the Indians, lying
low upon their ponies' backs or hanging to the farther side, whooping,
shaking their blankets, and launching their arrows and balls. They
were Kiowas and Comanches both; and had the caravan just about where
they wanted it.

The corral was completed; the caballada jostled in; the teamsters
crawled here and there, to poke their guns through the wheels; in rode
the skirmishers, Captain Bent last. The circling Indians pressed
closer; and the cannon piece was yet useless, although the men yanked
and slashed.

But the rifles and muskets kept the enemy off. When finally the cannon
was unlimbered, aimed, and fired, it only broke the circle. The
Indians scattered; and yelling angrily settled down to a siege.

The sun of mid-afternoon was scorching. The wagons on the west end of
the corral furnished a little shade, but even in the shade the sand
burned the skin. The men, lying flat, shifted wearily. The animals
dropped their heads, and panted. The bare yellow hills around
quivered. All the little basin was like a furnace. There was not a
drop of water except in the casks, and this water would not last
long--the air would suck up what men and beasts did not soon drink.
The Indians need only wait.

What a fix! The attack could not have been made in a worse place, were
it not for the soldiers.

Captain Bent