"Send six of your men over to the south front, sergeant," were Ray's
orders to Winsor, as he hurried over to join Clayton again. "They may
try one final charge from that side, and give us a chance to empty a few
more saddles." Creeping and crouching through the timber the chosen men
obeyed, and were assigned to stations under Clayton's eye. The
precaution was wise indeed, for, just as the captain foresaw, a rally in
force began far out over the southward slopes, the Indians gathering in
great numbers about some chieftain midway between the coming force and
the still beleaguered defenders of the grove. Then, brandishing lance
and shield and rifle, as before, they began spreading out across the
prairie, heading now for the cottonwoods, while others still faced and
fired on the far blue skirmish line. The fierce wind, sweeping across
the direction of the attack, deadened all sound of hoof or war chant,
but there was no mistaking the signs, no doubt of the intent, when, in a
little moment more, the earth began to tremble beneath the dancing pony
feet, telling, almost with the swiftness of sight, that the grand
advance had again begun. But other eyes were watching too. Other
soldiers, keen campaigners as these at the Elk, were there afield, and
almost at the moment the wild barbaric horde burst yelling into their
eager gallop, and before the dust cloud hid the distant slopes beyond,
the exultant shout went up from the captain's lips, as he threw down his
glass and grabbed his carbine.
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