White Buffalo's band alone resisted; but, attacked in the rear by Major Melville, and in front by the Count, its last hour had struck: still the collision was rude, the Indians resisted obstinately, and made the whites purchase their victory dearly; but, attacked on all sides at once, and falling helplessly under the unerring bullets of the white men, disorder entered their ranks, they disbanded, and the rout commenced.
One man alone remained calm and impassive on the field of battle. It was White Buffalo, leaning on his long sword; with pallid brow and haughty look, he still defied the enemies he could no longer combat.
"Surrender!" Bright-eye shouted, as he rushed upon him; "surrender, or I will shoot you like a dog."
The Chief smiled disdainfully, and made no reply. The implacable hunter seized his rifle by the barrel, and whirled it round his head. The Count seized him sharply by the arm.
"Stay, Bright-eye," he said.
"Let the man alone," White Buffalo said, coldly.
"I do not wish him to kill you," the young man replied.
"I suppose you wish to kill me yourself, noble Count of Beaulieu," he said, in a cutting voice.
"No, sir," the young man said, with disdain; "throw down your weapons; I spare your life."
The exile gave him a withering glance. "Instead of telling me to throw down my weapons," he said, ironically, "why do you not try to take them from me."