how sharp were those savage eyes. No white man in the short
half-circle dared to waste a single shot now; all realized that their
stock of ammunition was becoming fearfully scant, yet those scheming
devils continually baited them to draw their fire.

Another long black night followed, during which, for an hour or so in
turn, the weary defenders slept, tossing uneasily, and disturbed by
fearful dreams. Then gray and solemn, amid the lingering shadows of
darkness, dawned the third dread day of unequal conflict. All
understood that it was destined to be their last on this earth unless
help came. It seemed utterly hopeless to protract the struggle, yet
they held on grimly, patiently, half-delirious from hunger and thirst,
gazing into each other's haggard faces, almost without recognition,
every man at his post. Then it was that old Gillis received his
death-wound, and the solemn, fateful whisper ran from lip to lip along
the scattered line that only five cartridges remained.

For two days Wyman had scarcely stirred from where he lay bolstered
against the rock. Sometimes he became delirious from fever, uttering
incoherent phrases, or swearing in pitiful weakness. Again he would
partially arouse to his old sense of soldierly duty, and assume
intelligent command. Now he twisted painfully about upon his side,
and, with clouded eyes, sought to discern what man was lying next him.
The face was hidden so that all he could clearly distinguish was the
fact that this man was not clothed as a soldier.

"Is that you, Hampton?" he questioned, his voice barely audible.

The person thus addressed, who was lying flat upon his back, gazing
silently upward at the rocky front of the cliff, turned cautiously over