Before dawn a courier has galloped into camp, bearing a despatch from
the commanding officer of the Riflers. It says but few words, but they
are full of meaning: "We have found a big party of hostiles. They are in
strong position, and have us at disadvantage. Rayner with his four
companies is hurrying to us. Leave all wagons with the boat under guard,
and come with every horse and man you can bring."

Before seven o'clock the wagons are parked close along the bank beside
the Far West, and Hull, with all the men he can muster,--some fifty,--is
trotting ahead on the trail of Rayner's battalion. With him rides Mr.
Hayne, eager and enthusiastic. Before ten o'clock, far up along the
slopes they see the blue line of skirmishers, and the knots of reserves
farther down, all at a stand. In ten minutes they ride with foaming
reins in behind a low ridge on which, flat on their faces and cautiously
peering over the crest, some hundred infantrymen are disposed. Others,
officers and file-closers, are moving to and fro in rear. They are of
Rayner's battalion. Farther back, down in a ravine a dozen forms are
outstretched upon the turf, and others are bending over them,
ministering to the needs of those who are not past help already. Several
officers crowd around the leading horsemen, and Hull orders, "Halt,
dismount, and loosen girths." The grave faces show that the infantry has
had poor luck, and the situation is summarized in few words. The Indians
are in force occupying the ravines and ridges opposite them and
confronting the six companies farther over to the west. Two attacks have
been made, but the Indian fire swept every approach, and both were
unsuccessful. Several soldiers were shot dead, others severely wounded.
Lieutenant Warren's leg is shattered below the knee; Captain Blount is
killed.

"Where's Rayner?" asks Hull, with grave face.