As they crept, rather than walked, forward into the open space in our front, their restless, searching eyes were not long in perceiving the irregular outlines of our rude barricade, nor were they dilatory in deciding that behind that pile of rock were to be discovered those they sought.  No attacking party operating upon the eastern continent, guided by all the strategy of civilized war, could have acted more promptly, or to better purpose.  The old chief made a quick, peculiar gesture from left to right, and in instant response his clustered bunch of warriors spread out in regulated intervals, assuming positions not unlike the sticks of a fan such as the Creoles use, until they formed a complete semicircle, their flanks close in against the cliff, and their centre well back upon the bank of the stream.  It was a pretty movement, executed with the precision of long discipline, and De Noyan brought his hand down applauding upon his knee.

“Parbleu!” he exclaimed with enthusiasm. “’Twas as well done as by troops of the line.  I look for a warm time presently, when we cross arms with those fellows.”

Even as he spoke, I observed the old chief passing rapidly from man to man, speaking briefly to each in turn and pointing toward us, as though giving special directions for the coming assault.

“Chevalier,” I whispered, “would it not be well to try a shot at that tall-haired fellow?”

“It appears too great a distance to my eye.”

“I have dropped a buck through forest limbs fifty feet farther.”

“Then try your fortune,” he said eagerly.  “It may be those fellows have never heard the crack of a gun.  The sound and sudden death might terrorize them.”

I took careful aim above the wall, resting my long rifle-barrel in a groove between the stones, and fired.  Ever since, it has seemed to me that God, for some mysterious purpose of His own, deflected the speeding ball, for never before or since did I miss such aim.  Yet miss I did, for while the old chief leaped wildly backward, his cheek fanned by the bullet, it was the savage he conversed with who sprang high into air, coming down dead.  Nor did a single warrior make a movement to flee.  Instead of frightening, it enraged, driving them into savage fury as they stared at the stiffening body of their comrade.  Scarcely had the smoke of the discharge drifted upward when, all their former impressive silence broken, and yelling like fiends incarnate, they made an impetuous rush for the hill.

“Francais! Francais!”

I was certain they used the word, fairly hissing it forth as if in bitter hatred, yet I had short enough time in which to listen as I hastily rammed home a second charge with which to greet them as they came.

“It will be best to draw, Messieurs,” spoke De Noyan in a cool, drawling voice.  “Ah, that was better, Master Benteen!” as two of the advancing mob went stumbling to the bullet.  “It leaves but twenty-seven to the three of us; not such bad odds!  Now, friends, yield no step backward, and strike as you never struck before.”