went, and without showing the least panic. They received charge
after charge of the white men, with the steadiness of veterans. By
and by the eagerness of the trappers reduced their ammunition and
their firing became less destructive. The Blackfeet were quick to
perceive the cause, and in turn they charged upon their assailants
who became immediately involved in a desperate hand to hand fight.
It was then the small arms in the possession of the whites played
their part. They were used with such effect, that the fierce warriors
were compelled once more to retreat.

But the courageous red men recoiled a short distance only, when they
halted and then, with exultant yells, dashed toward the trappers,
who despite all they could do, were forced back until it looked as
if the whole party would be overwhelmed and destroyed.

On this retreat, one of the horses belonging to the hunters was
shot, and plunged to the ground so suddenly that his rider was caught
before he could spring from the saddle. Several of the warriors
were quick to perceive his sore straits, and dashed toward him,
eager to secure his scalp. The poor fellow struggled desperately,
but could not extricate himself, and his expression of horrified
despair when he perceived the fierce red men running a race with
each other to reach him, would have melted the heart of almost any
one.

Carson was several rods distant, but seeing the danger of his
friend, he bounded out of his saddle, and shouted to the others to
rally to the defence of their imperilled comrade. Kit raised his
rifle while on the run and shot the leading warrior dead. The other
whites were so close behind that the remaining Blackfeet whirled