Between the wagons where Stephen entered the enclosure, ten or a dozen dark forms now appeared. He put down the child bidding him run and hide himself in a safe spot, and sprang to Roger's aid where he stood beating back the enemy with the stock of his clubbed gun. It was only for an instant, however, that they faced these odds alone; for Bushrod, Walsh, and Bingham rushed to their assistance, and there succeeded a wild moment; the mingled sound of blows and oaths, and then the attack having failed, the dark forms melted silently away in the grey light.
“Who's hurt?” Rogers inquired eagerly.
“I guess I'm not, for one,” said Bushrod. “How about you, Steve, and you, Walsh, are your skins whole yet?”
“Yes, but good God, where is Bingham! What's become of him?” cried Stephen.
“He was at my elbow a moment ago,” faltered Walsh. There was a pause while they stared blankly at each other. Then from the plain below they heard a yell of savage triumph.
“Hark, what's that?” said Stephen, but his blood ran cold at the sound.
“What does it mean, Rogers?” Bushrod demanded, for the yells continued. “Why don't you speak, man?” he cried.