attle had opened in a hurry. The bullets from the Indians
pattered like hail, sending the bark flying, and drumming upon the bare
trunks of the breastworks. The heavy carbines stanchly replied.
Horses reared again, and screamed and fell, kicking. The Indians were
making certain of the cavalry mounts. That was the first job--to put
the enemy afoot.

The attackers were Sioux and Cheyennes both. How they had come in so
cunningly, was a mystery. Gruard thought it was an accident; they were
not the same Indians who had been sighted, below. But that cut no
figure.

The head chief wore white buckskin and an imposing war bonnet. He
might be glimpsed, now and then, as he darted about, placing his
warriors.

"White Antelope, that," asserted Gruard. "Eh, Bat?"

"Think so," Big Bat nodded.

"And he's a good one; among the best of the Cheyennes. Pass the word
to get him, when we can."

After that, every carbine sought for White Antelope. His time came
when he led a charge. The bullets seemed to mow him down, together
with his warriors. Whether he had been killed or not, was a question;
but he did not appear again.

The Indians tried no more charges across the park. However, they were
growing in strength. They were extending their line; the bullets and
yells arrived from east, north and west. The line had crossed the head
of the park and the foot, and was closing in on three sides. The
detachment were being out-flanked.

More than half the horses were down. The rifle fire never slackened.
Matters looked very serious. An Indian called to Gruard.

"Hello, Standing Bear! You are all dead. Do you think there are no
men but yours in this country!"

Civilian Finerty had many thoughts while he aimed, fired, and loaded.
He remembered the warning by General Crook. He rather wished that he
had stayed safe in the big camp. He almost wished that he had never
left Chicago. How far away Chicago seemed! There, people were walking
about the streets--the _Times_ presses were thundering out first
editions--and here, in the Big Horn Mountains of Montana he and half a
company of United States soldiers were fighting for their lives.

He did not so much mind meeting death, in a charge, or in the
excitement of open battle; but to be hemmed in, and helpless--to be
disabled, and captured, by Indians--!

"No surrender!"

That was the word being passed now.

"Every man save one shot for himself."

They grimly buckl