We were yet far beyond rifle-range, and I actually thought they were going to give us the chance of a fair and square stand-up fight. True, however, to their invariable character, the red men thought twice upon the matter. Turning from us they started up the valley, in the direction Knight's command was coming. However, they did not continue their retreat (it was a tolerably rapid one, as our pursuit also was) for more than a mile. Here they plunged into a rocky gorge on their left. Fancying that they might intend drawing the Rangers into a trap, I sent Brighton Bill and four others up the right side of the gorge, which was the most precipitous. Ben Painter, and some half-dozen more, were told to mount the other side. My directions were that they should advance as quickly as was possible, so that they might be able to head the party we were pursuing. It was fortunate that the ground presented tolerably rough travelling for horses, or, as they had necessarily dismounted, it would have been impossible for them to do this. After pursuing the uneven and broken track in the centre of the gorge for a considerable length, perhaps some three-quarters of a mile, it turned suddenly to the right. Here it formed a deep and irregular basin, from which there was only one means of escape. This was a narrow and rocky defile, running up the steep side of the cañon. As they saw us behind them, they endeavored to mount this. Bill, and the boys who were with him, had, however, moved too quickly. Scarcely had they entered the defile, than he administered them a sharp warning to retreat. Astounded by the totally unexpected warmth with which they had been saluted, they faced round, with the intention of fighting their way through their pursuers. Upon reaching the bend of the gorge, at which it widened into this basin, Ben's party received them with a round volley. The red-skins now knew they were fairly trapped, and drawing back into the basin, commenced, with the fragments of rock, to pile up a rude sort of breastwork. As the boys were dismounting for active business, a blue-coat suddenly appeared upon the scene. The soldiers had reached the mouth of the gorge, and Captain Knight had despatched him to find out what the firing he had heard, meant. It must be owned, this was a sufficiently curious question. As Arnold not unnaturally asked the sergeant, who addressed it to me: "What the devil could it mean?" I replied even more sharply: "You can see for yourself. If the Captain wishes to look at a little real Indian fighting, he's got a chance."