"The Tigercat is a great chief; he would neither eat nor drink with the palefaces."
"It is an unworthy artifice."
"The palefaces are thievish dogs. The Apaches will take their scalps."
"Wretch!" cried the hunter; "I too am a paleface. Come and take my scalp."
And, rapid as thought, he cast on the ground the cap of fur which covered his head, and at the same instant precipitated himself on the Indian chief, and plunged his knife into his heart.
Five shots were heard simultaneously with this action, and the remaining chiefs sitting round the fire rolled to the ground in their death agony.
The sachems were the only Indians with rifles.
"Forward! Forward!" shouted the hunter; and seizing his rifle by the muzzle, he hurled himself into the midst of the panic-stricken Apaches.
The Mexicans after their first fire, rushed into the camp to reinforce the guide.
Then a terrible struggle commenced—six men against fifteen—a struggle all the more fierce and desperate because each man knew he could expect no mercy.