It was Red Hatchet, as he had half-suspected, when the wild chant of the medicine chief urged the bands to strike at the soldiers, whose bullets in return would take no effect upon them if they struck into brave hearts. But his long stooping posture had unsteadied the nerves of Red Hatchet, and his bullet, though well aimed, simply cut a button from over the heart of Kit Carey. That first shot was the signal that brought a volley, for concealed beneath their blankets the warriors had their rifles and revolvers, and full upon the surprised soldiers poured a terrible, death-dealing volley. Brave men fell dead and dying ere they could draw a weapon, while with one terrific war-cry the Indians made a rush for their tepees. Then began a battle the like of which was never seen before. It was a battle of desperation upon the one side, of indignation and revenge upon the other. The soldiers rallied quickly for the fight, and began to move down upon the tepees, for there were the gallant Wallace, Lieutenant Carey, and the detail of soldiers sent to search the camp. Their presence there meant death to them unless rescue came quickly. The squaws, maddened by the firing, drew weapons they had hidden about them, and fought like demons. Half-grown boys and girls, enveloped in blankets, and looking like braves, dashed about upon their ponies, dealing death wherever they could strike a blow. It was a wild, weird scene, an Inferno while it lasted. Brought to bay among the tepees, Captain Wallace felt that he was to die, but he intended to fall with his face to the foe, as a brave soldier should. An Indian warrior rushed upon him, firing as he came. Wounded, though he was, the brave Wallace avenged himself then and there. Two other braves bounded toward him, and a sharp hand-to-hand fight followed. They, too, fell dead, though the gallant soldier staggered from the wounds he had received, and seemed about to fall. But no! once more he turned to meet his foes, and two more confronted him, one a chief with uplifted tomahawk. The last two shots of the captain's revolver dropped one Indian dead and wounded the other. But that other came on, unheeding his four comrades who lay dead at the brave captain's feet, and now it was sword against tomahawk. To the hilt in the heart of the Indian chief sank the sword of Captain Wallace, just as the tomahawk, though held in a dying hand, fell with fatal force upon the soldier's head. As Captain Wallace sank among his foes, fitting monument to show how he died, Kit Carey dashed up, sword in one hand, revolver in the other. "Great God! it is the noble Wallace! I am too late to save, but not to avenge. A noble death for a soldier to die, my gallant comrade," and the speaker glanced at the foes lying around the dead captain. As he finished speaking he placed a whistle to his lips, and gave two sharp calls.