soldier, one Lannon, sprang to him and pulled him down the bluff, the
major protesting that he was not wounded, which proved to be true, the
bullet having passed through his heavy clothes.

The troops had drawn up on the other sides, and a perfect storm of
bullets whirled over the in-trenchments. The powder blackened the faces
of the men, and they took off their caps or had them shot off. To raise
the head for more than a fraction of a second meant death.

Johnson had exchanged five shots with a fine-looking Cheyenne, and every
time he raised his eye to a level with the rock White Antelope's gun
winked at him.

"You will get killed directly," yelled Lannon to Johnson; "they have you
spotted."

The smoke blew and eddied over them; again Johnson rose, and again White
Antelope's pistol cracked an accompaniment to his own; but with movement
like lightning the sergeant sprang through the smoke, and fairly shoving
his carbine to White Antelope's breast, he pulled the trigger. A
50-calibre gun boomed in Johnson's face, and a volley roared from the
pits, but he fell backward into cover. His comrades set him up to see if
any red stains came through the grime, but he was unhurt.

The firing grew; a blue haze hung over the hill. Johnson again looked
across the glacis, but again his eye met the savage glare of White
Antelope.

"I haven't got him yet, Lannon, but I will;" and Sergeant Johnson again
slowly reloaded his pistol and carbine.