"Let's do something, Carter; we's in a fix." "If we go down, Otto, we
are gone; if we go back, we are gone; let's go forward," hissed the
sergeant.

Slowly they crawled from tree to tree.

"Don't you see the Injuns?" said the Swede, as he pointed to the rocks
in front, where lay their dark forms. The still air gave no sound. The
cathedral of nature, with its dark pine trunks starting from gray snow
to support gray sky, was dead. Only human hearts raged, for the forms
which held them lay like black bowlders.

"Egah--lelah washatah," yelled the sergeant.

Two rifle-shots rang and reverberated down the canon; two more replied
instantly from the soldiers. One Indian sunk, and his carbine went
clanging down the rocks, burying itself in the snow. Another warrior
rose slightly, took aim, but Johnson's six-shooter cracked again, and
the Indian settled slowly down without firing. A squaw moved slowly in
the half-light to where the buck lay. Bordeson drew a bead with his
carbine.

"Don't shoot the woman, Otto. Keep that hole covered; the place is alive
with Indians;" and both lay still.

A buck rose quickly, looked at the sergeant, and dropped back. The
latter could see that he had him located, for he slowly poked his rifle
up without showing his head. Johnson rolled swiftly to one side, aiming
with his deadly revolver. Up popped the Indian's head, crack went the
six-shooter; the head turned slowly, leaving the top exposed. Crack