Not more than two hundred of the Wyoming men were left
standing, and the impact of seven or eight hundred savage
warriors was so great that they were hurled back in confusion. A
wail of grief and terror came from the other side of the river,
where a great body of women and children were watching the
fighting.
"The battle's lost," said Shif'less Sol,
"Beyond hope of saving it," said Henry, "but, boys, we five are
alive yet, and we'll do our best to help the others protect the
retreat."
They kept under cover, fighting as calmly as they could amid such
a terrible scene, picking off warrior after warrior, saving more
than one soldier ere the tomahawk fell. Shif'less Sol took a
shot at "Indian" Butler, but he was too far away, and the bullet
missed him.
"I'd give five years of my life if he were fifty yards nearer,"
exclaimed the shiftless one.
But the invading force came in between and he did not get another
shot. There was now a terrible medley, a continuous uproar, the
crashing fire of hundreds of rifles, the shouts of the Indians,
and the cries of the wounded. Over them all hovered smoke and
dust, and the air was heavy, too, with the odor of burnt
gunpowder.
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