The sergeant smiled, then took in the chances of defending the hill, being glad to see that the corporal had put the horses in as secure a place as could be found and posted his men in fighting positions. The corporal might be scared, but his military training stood him in need. “Grass, but no water here; yet we can hold ’em off for a while, for some man has got to slip out to-night and go back to the fort for help,” said the sergeant. All had been listening eagerly to his words; but each one looked away at this suggestion, fearing he would be the man picked out to go. “Maybe Massa Bill Cody come along and sabe us,” said the corporal. There was a cheer at this, and it showed just what the colored troopers thought of Buffalo Bill’s powers to help them. The sergeant seemed pleased, also, and he set to work to strengthen his position, place his men where they could do the most good and ordered them to throw up the earth about each one of them so as to protect them. They were only too anxious to do this, and worked like beavers. “There they come--steady, men, and wait until I order you to fire!” the sergeant said calmly. The Indians had now united their forces, and it was evident that they belonged to the same band, had been watching the troopers for some time, and had arranged to ambush them all: only the advance guard of poor Brick, sent ahead by the sergeant, had spoiled their plan, as they had fired on him with their arrows, believing that the others were close upon his heels. Having united their two bands, a hundred in number, all came with a rush upon the intrenched troopers, yelling like madmen, their ponies at full speed, and sending showers of arrows before them with an occasional shot from a rifle, where a brave was so unfortunate as to have firearms, then not common among the redskins. “We’ve got ter do ’em, men, or they’ll down us,” shouted the sergeant, and a moment after he cried: “Aim to kill--fire!” Some of the troopers may have fired at random; but more did not, and down went ponies and riders, while the repeating rifles of the soldiers keeping up their rattle, and deadly rattle it was, checked the onward rush of the redskins, for they wavered, turned, and fled for the shelter of the nearest timber. The colored troopers were jubilant with delight. Without a white officer they had beaten off the redskins, who were five to one against them, and killed or wounded a number of braves and ponies. Sergeant Mobile Buck was a hero of heroes, and he felt it, too. Whatever his men might feel about it, he, at least, was glad he had come. It gave the sergeant confidence, and it helped the men. One trooper had been killed, shot through the throat with an arrow, and three others slightly wounded. But the dead man was removed out of sight, and the wounds of the three men dressed, weapons reloaded, the position strengthened, and supper cooked and sent around, for night was at hand.