Leona strained her eyes and gazed through the gloom.
“Yes,” she said, after a moment’s anxious gaze, “I see him now,” and then, with a light heart, she was about to proceed, when Hickman laid his hand upon her arm; she could feel that he was trembling violently.
“You see him? where?” and the voice of the old man trembled with fear.
“There!” she answered, pointing straight before her. “Don’t you see those forms in the darkness?—there are three or four with him, and some one on horseback!”
“My God!” shrieked the old man, in terror, “the Indians!” and then he would have turned to fly, but the red warriors swooped down upon them; with a lightning stroke a savage cleft his head with a tomahawk, and struck him dead to the ground. Another grim warrior, bending from the saddle, seized the almost fainting Leona in his arms, and raising her, held the maiden before him. Her screams rung shrill on the night-air; then came the quick reports of shots fired to the eastward of the camp: ’twas the signal for the attack. The picket-guards fired their rifles, then ran for the wagon train.
Dick Hickman heard the exclamation of his father and the scream of the girl, but first thought it was only the execution of the plan contrived; then he heard the rush of the Indians and the struggle attending the killing of his father, and realizing that the Indians had come in reality, he fled hastily for the camp.
The attack had now begun in downright earnest. Abe and Dave had scouted down the bank of the river until they detected the advancing Indians, then skillfully withdrawing without being observed, they had returned and alarmed the camp, so that when the Crows made their dash, intended for a complete surprise, to their astonishment they found the emigrants fully prepared to receive them.
The Indians, contrary to their wonted custom, dashed in among the wagons, and fought the emigrants hand to hand. The contest was long and bloody, but the whites were fighting for all that was dear to them in the world, and made a most desperate resistance. Being, too, armed far superior to the Indians, gave them an advantage, though outnumbered. Their revolvers did terrible service, thinning the ranks of the Crows with dreadful effect. The emigrants, too, had the advantage of the cover of the wagons. Abe and Dave fought like demons. The Indians gave way before the two guides, who, on horseback, wielding their heavy rifles like reeds, brought the butts of them down with terrible effect upon the heads of the red assailants. The “White Vulture” led on the Crows with desperate bravery, but, at last, the Indians, having lost nearly a third of their force, reluctantly drew off and left the emigrants in possession of the field.
It was a hard-earned victory, for six of the emigrants had been killed outright, and hardly a man escaped without some wound.
Abe and Dave instantly exerted themselves to place the camp again in a proper state for defense.