ow a margin it tasted blood ere my rifle-stock crushed the side of
his head and sent him backward, a reeling corpse into the mass at his
heels. Then all was confusion, a riot of leaping figures, frantic
shouting, and clanging weapons, and I know not what was done, except
that I struck out like a crazed man, heedless of what might be aimed at
me, but letting drive at every savage head within range, until, at
last, there seemed no others in my front. Then, as I paused,
breathless and uncertain, passing my hand across my eyes to clear them
from the blood and hair which half blinded me, I heard De Noyan's
drawling tone.

"Most beautifully done, Master Benteen, and as for our red-headed
preacher, by the memory of Jeanne d'Arc, the like of him as fighting
man I have never seen."

I leaned back heavily against the stones, now the strain of battle had
relaxed, feeling strangely weakened by my exertions as well as the loss
of blood, and glanced about me. The discomfited savages had fallen
sullenly back to the bank of the stream, where they bunched together as
if in council, and I noted more than one wounded man among them. De
Noyan sat recklessly upon the stone wall, dangling his long legs, and,
back turned contemptuously upon our foe, was carefully examining the
edge of his sword.

"I was fool enough to attempt a down cut," he explained, observing my
eyes upon him. "I tried it on that savage who lies yonder, and it was
rather a neat stroke, yet has sorely nicked the blade."

"Where is the Puritan?" I asked, not seeing him.

"Stretched yonder at rest; he did needlessly exhaust himself, not
knowing how best to wield his weapon. _Sacre_! he struck hard blows,
and will have two savages for whom to make answer in the Day of
Judgment."

"What loss did the fellows sustain?" I questioned, the cut at the edge
of my hair half blinding me with dripping blood.

"We dropped seven between us, counting those who fell to your fire, and
there are others who hardly appear in condition for further fighting.
As to the garrison, you seem to possess a flesh wound or two, the head
of the Puritan rings merrily yet from the tap of a war-club, while I
boast a boot full of blood; 'tis none of it serious."

"They will attack again?"

"Ay! those lads are not of the breed to let up with one bite; and mark
you, man, it is going to be the next turn that will test our mettle."

He deliberately changed his posture, glancing carelessly across h