counted as among the bravest of the men. They well
knew, like everybody else, that it would be nip and tuck to get
through; but they felt that they had been honored by the orders.

So they rode out, in the evening of September 10. They trotted for the
northeast, this night made a short camp, set on at daylight, covered
fifty more miles before night, camped again, and at sunrise the next
morning were approaching the Wichita River in what then was northern
Texas but now is southwestern Oklahoma. From a prairie swell Amos
Chapman pointed ahead.

"We're in luck, boys. There's the advance guard of the wagon train."

That was cheering news. They had done famously. The supplies were
coming and possibly their dangerous trip had ended. They rode on, to
meet the cavalry guard of the train. Scout Dixon suddenly spoke:

"Those aren't white soldiers! They're Injuns! They've seen us, too.
We've got to run or fight."

"Yep; Injuns and heap Injuns," rapped Scout Chapman. "But we can't
run. They'd catch us in a hurry and there's no timber to stand 'em off
from. We'll have to face 'em and do the best we can."

When first sighted, the horsemen had been a mile distant, slowly riding
among the grassy billows, and appearing and disappearing. They had
dipped into a draw, had come out less than a half a mile away; a
second, much larger party had galloped into view; all were spreading
into a broad front and were tearing forward. The sun shone on their
red blankets, their painted feathers and their tufted lances.

"Look to your guns and cinches, boys," ordered Sergeant Woodall, his
weathered face grimly set. "We're good for 'em. We've seen their kind
before. Shall we make a running fight, Chapman?"

"No. There's too much cover for 'em. They'd lie in this grass like
snakes and cut us off. Head into that first ravine, yonder. Maybe we
can stand 'em off from there till help comes."

They six had only a moment for tightening their girths and unbuttoning
their holster flaps.

"For'd! Gallop!" barked the sergeant. They galloped. They and the
foremost Indians reached the ravine, on opposite sides, at the same
time. They plunged in, could go no farther. It was the work of only
an instant to vault from the saddles, leave the six horses to be held
by Private Smith, and level their carbines from the brush of the rim.

The Indians volleyed from the ravine edge.

"They've got me," Private Smith called. He came running