Their shout of victory rose and swelled, and the mountain gave it back in many echoes.  Dick, feeling his responsibility, managed to keep cool, but he continually shouted to his men to press on, knowing how full advantage should be taken of a surprise.  But they needed no urging.  Aflame with fire and zeal they charged upon the guerrillas, pulling the trigger as fast as they could slip in the cartridges, and Slade and Skelly, despite all their cunning and quickness, were unable to make a stand against them.

A great shout came up from the valley.  The moment Colonel Winchester heard the fire on the flank he knew that his plan, executed with skill by one of his lieutenants, was a success, and, gathering up his own force, he crept up the slopes, his men sending their fire into the guerrillas, who were already breaking.

Dick’s troop was doing great damage.  The guerrillas in their rovings and robberies had never before faced such a fire and they fell fast, the deep snow making flight difficult.  Reed, who was at Dick’s side, suddenly uttered a cry.

“I see him!  I see him!” he shouted.

The long-barreled cap-and-ball rifle leaped to his shoulder, and when the stream of fire gushed from the muzzle, Leonard, the mountaineer, fell in the snow and would never betray anybody else.  Most of the guerrillas were now fleeing in panic, and Dick heard the shrill, piercing notes of Slade’s whistle as he tried to draw his men off in order.  For a moment or two he forgot his duties as a leader as, pistol in hand, he looked for the little man under the enormous slouch hat.  Once more the feeling seized him that it was a long duel between Slade and himself that must end in the death of one or the other, and he meant to end it now.  Despite the fierce notes of the whistle, coming from one point and then another, he did not see him.  He caught a glimpse of the gigantic form of Skelly, but he too was soon gone, and then when he felt the restraining hand of Shepard upon his arm he came out of his rage.

“Look there!” cried Shepard.

About a score of the guerrillas had been cut off from their comrades and were driven toward the valley, where they remained on its edge, crouched down, and firing.  The deep snow in which they knelt was quivering.  Dick shouted to his men to draw back.  Then the huge bank of snow gave way and slid down the slope, carrying the guerrillas, and gathering volume and force as it went.  A terrified shouting came from the thick of it, as the avalanche hurled itself into the valley, where the bruised and broken guerrillas were taken prisoners without resistance.

Dick, after one glance at their fate, continued the pursuit of the main band down the other slope.  He knew that they were robbers and murderers, and he felt little scruple.  His sharpshooters fairly mowed them down as they fled in terror, but all who threw up their hands or signified otherwise that they wished to surrender were spared.