“Aux armes!” they shouted. “To arms! They come—the savages!”
Around whirled their horses Kit Carson and Frémont, and while the lieutenant and Lucien Maxwell and Basil Lajeunesse urgently strove with the van, Kit Carson sped recklessly adown the line to the rear.
“To the river, boys!” he shouted. “We’ll fort thar, an’ let ’em come! Quick, now!”
How the men jumped to his clear tones! The river was near, on the right; its hither bank was high and steep; pack animals and mule teams were forced into trot and lope; the packs swayed and jolted, the carts jolted and swayed; loud rose the cries of the drivers. Just as on the Santa Fé Trail, in the attack by the Kiowas, now here upon the edge of the river, under the steep bank the carts were instantly wheeled into a semi-circle, enclosing the horses and mules. Over the bank peered the defenders, rifle muzzles forward, Oliver ready with his tack-studded gift from Kit.
“Bang! Whang!” sounded the reports as several of the Frémont men fired their guns, to be certain of their condition.
Mr. Bissonette and the Indian who was to protect the march from attack by his people had not “forted” with the column; they had at once ridden on, to meet the enemy, and to explain. Now here they came, back, with two new Indians.
“Wagh! Sioux!” grunted the men around Oliver.
Kit Carson, Lieutenant Frémont, Lucien Maxwell and Basil Lajeunesse stepped out and received the approaching four.