Forsyth's heart sank to his boots as his eye followed the direction of the scout's outstretched hand. For the ground seemed literally to sprout Indians. They apparently jumped from the sod itself, and over the rolling hills, out of the thickets, from the bed of the stream, along the opposite bank, and out of the long grass upon every side, hundreds of redskins—with shrill cries of vindictive hatred—rushed down upon the fifty scouts, standing immobile at their horses' heads. "Fire!" shouted Forsyth, when a few of the red men came quite close, and, as the sharp crack of the rifles spat at the yelping braves, several ponies went down. The Indians fell back, out of range, and a few moments were given to the cool-headed United States officer to perfect plans for a retreat.
After a moment's hesitation he shouted his orders: "Lead your horses to the little island. Form a circle fronting outwards! Throw yourselves upon the ground and intrench yourselves as rapidly as you can!"
No sooner had he ceased speaking than, in almost a solid mass, the scouts retreated to the island, keeping up a vigorous fusillade upon the surrounding Indians. On the left, down the stream, a way to escape lay open through the little gorge up which the command had marched, but Forsyth knew enough of Indian tactics to realize that the savages would line these bluffs with warriors. Once upon the island, and they would have to attack over open ground. Intrenched in this position, the soldiers had an even chance of standing off this overwhelming mass of Indians, who, realizing that they had the white men in their power, rode around the brave little army with yells of derision, and shot at them repeatedly as they broke into a run in order to get to the chosen position. A steady and galling fire poured in upon the scouts from the reeds and long grass. Horses fell to the earth on all sides. One man was killed, several were badly wounded. Enfuriated at their blunder in not seizing the island before the whites had a chance to reach it, the various chiefs rode rapidly around, just out of rifle range, and yelled to their dismounted warriors to close in on all sides. The steady crack of rifles sounded everywhere; the horses reared and plunged at their tethers; men cursed and groaned; the Indians howled savagely, and above the frightful mêlée could be heard the calm commands of Forsyth:
"Steady, men! Steady, now! Aim low. Don't throw away a shot!"
At this thrilling moment, and as the men with tin-cups, pocketknives, and tin dishes, were shovelling up enough of the gravelly soil to form a rude protection, one of the plainsmen shouted:
"Don't let's stay here and be shot down like dogs! Will any man try for the opposite bank with me?"
"I will," cried out a man upon the other side of the circle.
"Stay where you are, men. It's your only chance!" called Forsyth, as he stood in the centre of the command, revolver in hand. "I'll shoot down any man who attempts to leave the island."
"And so will I," shouted McCall, the first sergeant.
"Get down to your work, men! Don't shoot unless you can see something to hit. Don't throw away your ammunition, for your lives may depend on how we husband it!" again cried Forsyth. And, as there was a temporary lull in the fight—many Indians having fallen to the rear of their line, badly wounded—the scouts grew cool and determined, vigorously dug into the sand with their knives and plates, and soon had a good-sized barricade thrown up. Indian women and children now covered the bluffs back of the valley, on the north side of the stream, and their shouts and wailing showed that many a redskin warrior had been sent to the Happy Hunting Grounds.