Wilder, with eyes turning to all points, is the first to perceive this.
“We’re on fire, boys!” he vociferates; “on fire everywhar!”
“Great God! yes! What are we to do?” several ask, despairingly.
“What air we to do?” shouts the guide, in response. “What kin we do, but fight it out to the death, an’ then die! So let us die, not like dogs, but as men—as Americans!”
Chapter Eight.
Knife, Pistol, and Hatchet.
The brave words had scarce passed from Walt Wilder’s lips when the waggons became enveloped in a cloud of smoke. From all sides it rolled into the corral till those inside could no longer see one another.
Still through the obscurity rang their cries of mutual encouragement, repeating the determination so tersely expressed.