Time and words were, at this moment, too valuable for me to waste any more of them. I again turned to the work on hand, and the blue-coat rode back. It may be suspected he was glad enough to do so, as Indian bullets and arrows were at the time rather lively. We were left to finish the affair, without the slightest assistance from the paid servants of Uncle Sam. As we subsequently had reason to know, this was not, however, owing to any want of courage on the part of Captain Knight. His men had proved too cowardly to lend us a hand. They did not relish exposing themselves to the Indians. Neither the angry commands nor threatening appeals of their indignant officer could in any way induce them to give us an effective support. Wrathful as we not unnaturally felt, we had no opportunity at the instant of discussing the matter with that righteous amount of Buncombe, which is, in similar cases, so gratifying to the average American mind. It should be mentioned, nevertheless, that one of the boys became fearfully disgusted with the conduct of his paid protectors. Indeed, Mart Gilbert, for such was his name, jumped from behind the mass of rock under which he was crouching. In his rage he actually executed an indignant _pas seul_, as I should in my earlier years have styled it, in the very face of the enemy. While displaying his maniacal agility, he roared out for any "darned red skunk" to show himself and fight him. None of those to whom he addressed himself, however, displayed any wish to accept his invitation. But, naturally enough, they thought they had an excellent chance afforded them for picking him off. A regular storm of bullets and arrows rang and whistled round him. Fortune generally seems to have a sympathy with madness. It certainly had so in this instance. Not one of these missiles even scraped his body. And before a second volley could be discharged at him, with, in all probability, a more successful result for the red-skins, Painter had crept to a point from which he could rake them a second time. This volley was delivered at short range and, as an officer of the regular army might say, destroyed their _morale_. As Ben subsequently thought proper to say, in a more vernacular phrase than I choose at present to employ, it impaired their digestion. Seeing the disorder into which they were thrown, I gave the boys the order to advance. My words were not quite rapid enough. The boys Brighton Bill had with him were once more in a position available for following the example those with Painter had set them. Demoralized as they were by the second volley, the red-skins nevertheless exhibited what Saxons denominate pluck, and made a furious rush upon the main body of their assailants, meeting us about half-way up to their breastworks. Our work was now short and thorough.