the bosses, Bill and Frank McCarthy, at their head, and the "boy extra"
under the direction of the wagon-master.

A well-placed volley of rifle-balls checked the Indians, and they
wheeled and rode away, after sending in a scattering cloud of arrows,
which wounded several of the trainmen. The decision of a hasty council
of war was, that a defensive stand would be useless, as the Indians
outnumbered the whites ten to one, and red reinforcements were
constantly coming up, until it seemed to Will as if the prairie were
alive with them. The only hope of safety lay in the shelter of the
creek's high bank, so a run was made for it. The Indians charged again,
with the usual accompaniment of whoops, yells, and flying arrows;
but the trainmen had reached the creek, and from behind its natural
breastwork maintained a rifle fire that drove the foe back out of range.

To follow the creek and river to Fort Kearny was not accounted much of a
chance for escape, but it was the only avenue that lay open; so, with a
parting volley to deceive the besiegers into thinking that the fort was
still held, the perilous and difficult journey was begun.

The Indians quickly penetrated the ruse, and another charge had to be
repulsed. Besides the tiresome work of wading, there were wounded men
to help along, and a ceaseless watch to keep against another rush of the
reds. It was a trying ordeal for a man, doubly so for a boy like Will;
but he was encouraged to coolness and endurance by a few words from
Frank McCarthy, who remarked, admiringly, "Well, Billy, you didn't scare
worth a cent."

After a few miles of wading the little party issued out upon the Platte
River. By this time the wounded men were so exhausted that a halt was