ope in the hearts of our company. The whites were
behind the Indians, and the doom so long apprehended was upon us.

This morning of the second day our men, going for water, were fired upon.
The spring was only a hundred feet outside our circle, but the way to it
was commanded by the Indians who now occupied the low hill to the east.
It was close range, for the hill could not have been more than fifteen
rods away. But the Indians were not good shots, evidently, for our men
brought in the water without being hit.

Beyond an occasional shot into camp the morning passed quietly. We had
settled down in the rifle pit, and, being used to rough living, were
comfortable enough. Of course it was bad for the families of those who
had been killed, and there was the taking care of the wounded. I was for
ever stealing away from mother in my insatiable curiosity to see
everything that was going on, and I managed to see pretty much of
everything. Inside the corral, to the south of the big rifle pit, the
men dug a hole and buried the seven men and two women all together. Only
Mrs. Hastings, who had lost her husband and father, made much trouble.
She cried and screamed out, and it took the other women a long time to
quiet her.

On the low hill to the east the Indians kept up a tremendous powwowing
and yelling. But beyond an occasional harmless shot they did nothing.

"What's the matter with the ornery cusses?" Laban impatiently wanted to
know. "Can't they make up their minds what they're goin' to do, an' then
do it?"

It was hot in the corral that afternoon. The sun blazed down out of a
cloudless sky, and there was no wind. The men, lying with their rifles
in the trench under the wagons, were partly shaded; but the big rifle
pit, in which were over a hundred women and children, was exposed to the
full power of the sun. Here, too, were the wounded men, over whom we
erected awnings of blankets. It was crowded and stifling in the pit, and
I was for ever stealing out of it to the firing-line, and making a great
to-do at carrying messages for father.

Our grave mistake had been in not forming the wagon-circle so as to
inclose the spring. This had been due to the excitement of the first
attack, when we did not know how quickly it might be followed by a second
one. And now it was too late. At fifteen rods' distance from the Indian
position on the hill we did not dare unchain our wagons. Inside the
corral, south of the gr