Did they reveal their persons to the keen eyes of the besieged, a bullet was speedily sent upon its deadly mission; did they essay to crawl beneath or over the wagons, they were met by pistol-shots, knife thrusts or clubbed rifles.
Nor were the defenders unscathed. More than one still and ghastly form incumbered the interior of the corral, while here and there writhed one in mortal agony, shrieking aloud, but with fast weakening accents, the names of his loved ones; of those, who were even then, perchance, praying for his safety, that he might pass that terrific ordeal unharmed.
Although old Tom Maxwell and Major Calhoun were desperately busy, their voices were silent. There was little need of orders then, for each man was nobly doing his duty, and that lay plainly before him.
Then there came a loud shout from those men who were stationed close to the extremities of the barricade, so as to overlook the water’s surface. A cry that announced some new peril threatening their safety; a cry that was echoed exultantly back by the demons in front, who now seemed to redouble their efforts to scale the barrier.
Maxwell quickly gained one end of the corral, and beheld the river’s surface above their position, as well as directly in front, close to the water’s edge, dotted with sundry black objects that needed but one glance to be recognized as logs, bearing the firearms of savages, who were evidently sheltered behind them, but at the same time drawing nearer to their anticipated prey.
Those who exposed themselves first, on going to the shore, were instantly saluted with a deadly volley of pistol-balls, and for a brief space, the others hesitated, as if disconcerted. They had evidently counted upon effecting an entrance into the corral by surprise, while the emigrants were engaged in repelling the attack of the main body, and then overpowering their obstinate foes, but the forethought of the veteran guide had baulked them.
Then rallying, they made a desperate rush, gaining the shore, and several of them actually gaining the bank, entering the corral, only to be hurled back, dead or dying, into the water. For a brief space, it was a wild, horrible melee, desperate and bloody.
The report of fire-arms—the occasional ringing of steel against steel, as two foemen met in close contest—the confused trampling to and fro—the shrill yell, either of rage or else of death-agony—the defiant shouts and hoarse oaths—the affrighted screams of the snorting horses—or the wail of some terrified infant, all combined into one fearful tumult!
Then there came a long-drawn, quavering cry, and as if by magic the savage assailants vanished, like hoar-frost before the sun’s warm breath. But there followed no exultant shout from the emigrants.
As they glanced fearfully around upon the forms of their dead and dying comrades, their hearts were rent with anguish and apprehension. They saw but too plainly, that another such triumph would be almost equivalent to a defeat.