In half a moment they met Herkimer.

“Git ready to fight,” said Solomon.  “We’re surrounded.”

The men were spread out in a half-circle and some hurried orders given, but before they could take a step forward the trap was sprung.  “The Red Devils of Brant” were rushing at them through the timber with yells that seemed to shake the tree-tops.  The regiment fired and began to advance.  Some forty Indians had fallen as they fired.  General Herkimer and others were wounded by a volley from the savages.

“Come on, men.  Foller me an’ use yer bayonets,” Solomon shouted.  “We’ll cut our way out.”

The Indians ahead had no time to load.  Scores of them were run through.  Others fled for their lives.  But a red host was swarming up from behind and firing into the regiment.  Many fell.  Many made the mistake of turning to fight back and were overwhelmed and killed or captured.  A goodly number had cut their way through with Jack and Solomon and kept going, swapping cover as they went.  Most of them were wounded in some degree.  Jack’s right shoulder had been torn by a bullet.  Solomon’s left hand was broken and bleeding.  The savages were almost on their heels, not two hundred yards behind.  The old scout rallied his followers in a thicket at the top of a knoll with an open grass meadow between them and their enemies.  There they reloaded their rifles and stood waiting.

“Don’t fire—­not none o’ ye—­till I give the word.  Jack, you take my rifle.  I’m goin’ to throw this ‘ere bunch o’ lightnin’.”

Solomon stepped out of the thicket and showed himself when the savages entered the meadow.  Then he limped up the trail as if he were badly hurt, in the fashion of a hen partridge when one has come near her brood.  In a moment he had dodged behind cover and crept back into the thicket.

There were about two hundred warriors who came running across the flat toward that point where Solomon had disappeared.  They yelled like demons and overran the little meadow with astonishing speed.

“Now hold yer fire—­hold yer fire till I give ye the word, er we’ll all be et up.  Keep yer fingers off the triggers now.”

He sprang into the open.  Astonished, the foremost runners halted while others crowded upon them.  The “bunch of lightning” began its curved flight as Solomon leaped behind a tree and shouted, “Fire!”

“‘Tain’t too much to say that the cover flew off o’ hell right thar at the edge o’ the Bloody Medder that minnit—­you hear to me,” he used to tell his friends.  “The air were full o’ bu’sted Injun an’ a barrel o’ blood an’ grease went down into the ground.  A dozen er so that wasn’t hurt run back ercrost the medder like the devil were chasin’ ’em all with a red-hot iron.  I reckon it’ll allus be called the Bloody Medder.”

In this retreat Jack had lost so much blood that he had to be carried on a litter.  Before night fell they met General Benedict Arnold and a considerable force.  After a little rest the tireless Solomon went back into the bush with Arnold and two regiments to find the wounded Herkimer, if possible, and others who might be in need of relief.  They met a band of refugees coming in with the body of the General.  They reported that the far bush was echoing with the shrieks of tortured captives.