Wyman, now reclining in agony against the base of the overhanging

cliff, directed the movements of his little command calmly and with

sober military judgment. Little by little, under protection of the

rifles of the three civilians, the uninjured infantrymen crept

cautiously about, rolling loosened bowlders forward into position,

until they finally succeeded in thus erecting a rude barricade between

them and the enemy. The wounded who could be reached were laboriously

drawn back within this improvised shelter, and when the black shadows

of the night finally shut down, all remaining alive were once more

clustered together, the injured lying moaning and ghastly beneath the

overhanging shelf of rock, and the girl, who possessed all the patient

stoicism of frontier training, resting in silence, her widely opened

eyes on those far-off stars peeping above the brink of the chasm, her

head pillowed on old Gillis's knee.

Few details of those long hours of waiting ever came forth from that

black canyon of death. Many of the men sorely wounded, all wearied,

powder-stained, faint with hunger, and parched with thirst, they simply

fought out to the bitter ending their desperate struggle against

despair. The towering, overhanging wall at their back assured

protection from above, but upon the opposite cliff summit, and easily

within rifle range, the cunning foe early discovered lodgment, and from

that safe vantage-point poured down a merciless fire, causing each man

to crouch lower behind his protecting bowlder. No motion could be

ventured without its checking bullet, yet hour after hour the besieged

held their ground, and with ever-ready rifles left more than one

reckless brave dead among the rocks. The longed-for night came dark

and early at the bottom of that narrow cleft, while hardly so much as a

faint star twinkled in the little slit of sky overhead. The cunning

besiegers crept closer through the enshrouding gloom, and taunted their

entrapped victims with savage cries and threats of coming torture, but

no warrior among them proved sufficiently bold to rush in and slay.

Why should they? Easier, safer far, to rest secure behind their

shelters, and wait in patience until the little band had fired its last

shot. Now they skulked timorously, but then they might walk upright

and glut their fiendish lust for blood.

Twice during that long night volunteers sought vainly to pierce those

lines of savage watchers. A long wailing cry of agony from out the

thick darkness told the fate of their first messenger, while Casey, of

the "X L," crept slowly, painfully back, with an Indian bullet embedded

deep in his shoulder. Just before the coming of dawn, Hampton, without

uttering a word, calmly turned up the collar of his tightly buttoned

coat, so as better to conceal the white collar he wore, gripped his

revolver between his teeth, and crept like some wriggling snake among

the black rocks and through the dense underbrush in search after water.

By some miracle of divine mercy he was permitted to pass unscathed, and

came crawling back, a dozen hastily filled canteens dangling across his

shoulders. It was like nectar to those parched, feverish throats; but

of food barely a mouthful apiece remained in the haversacks.




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