As for Joe and Darry, the first shock over, each felt as if he was in a dream—as if this terrible sight presented to their gaze could not be true. They shot off their rifles mechanically, yet when it was all over Joe remembered how he had sent one redskin tumbling back into the ditch, and Darry could tell of a desperado who had dropped his gun because of a shot through the shoulder.
"Fight to the last, men!" shouted Captain Moore, as he discharged his pistol at the leader of the desperadoes. Gilroy had hit him in the forearm, but the young officer's aim was still more true, and Matt Gilroy went down never to rise again.
In the meanwhile old Benson was having a terrific hand-to-hand encounter with White Ox. Each had fired a shot at the other, and now they closed in, the Indian chief with his hunting-knife and the old scout with his clubbed rifle.
The struggle was as short as it was thrilling. Benson made a pass which the Indian chief dodged. Then White Ox plunged his knife toward the old scout's heart, but a quick turn made it catch in Benson's hunting-shirt. Down came the rifle butt a second time, and the blow, catching White Ox on the neck, forced him to his knees. Even then he struck at Benson's legs, but the old scout leaped over his head. Then down came the rifle butt once more, and the Indian chief gave a groan which was his last.
Fully sixty Indians and a score of desperadoes were now within the stockade, and it looked as if all was lost to our friends. A part of the regulars were fighting at the entrance to the stable, but the majority were gathered around Captain Moore at the entrance to the officers' quarters. Behind these were the ladies of the fort and the officers who were sick.
"Perhaps we had better surrender," said Colonel Fairfield, when told by his wife of the condition of affairs. "If we don't——" He could not finish.
"Kill the white soldiers!" was the cry from the Indians. "White Ox has fallen! They must all die! Spare nobody!"
Captain Moore was now fighting as never before. Beside him stood old Benson, and not far away were Joe and Darry. Each of the number was wounded, and hardly any of the regulars were better off. Ammunition was running low. Still the horrible din continued, and the dust and smoke were blinding.
But now, hark, what was that? From a distance sounded out a bugle call. Then came a shot, followed by another, and then a regular volley. Captain Moore started, and his eyes lit with pleasure.
"The relief!" he shouted. "The relief from Fort Prescott! Boys, we are saved!"