In less than an hour, Isaac and his companions returned, and reported that they had seen no signs of Indians whatever. On the receipt of this intelligence, the order to march was immediately given, and the whole body of soldiers, under the scorching rays of an August sun, moved rapidly forward. Nothing occurred to interrupt their progress, until the van had reached within a few yards of the ravines before mentioned, when the appalling truth of a tremendous ambuscade of the savages suddenly became known, by the pouring therefrom, into their ranks, a terrible volley, which carried with it death, terror and confusion. Never were soldiers taken more by surprise, and at greater disadvantage to themselves, both as to numbers and position. They had relied upon the report of the scouts, who had themselves been deceived by the quiet of everything about the ravines; and now here they were, less than two hundred in number, on an open spot, exposed to the deadly rifles of more than five hundred Indian warriors, who were lying concealed among the dark cedars of the ravines. The first fire was severely destructive, particularly on the right, where the gallant Colonel Trigg fell mortally wounded, and was soon after tomahawked and scalped. With him went down several officers of inferior grade, and a large portion of the Harrodsburgh troops; but, undaunted, his little band of survivors returned the fire of the Indians, and, assisted by those in the rear, pressed forward like heroes to the support of the center and van, where the work of death and carnage was now becoming terrible. "Onward!" shouted Colonel Todd, as he rode to and fro, animating his men by his voice and gestures: "Onward, my noble soldiers, and strike for your country and firesides! Oh God!" exclaimed he the next moment, as a ball pierced his breast; "I am mortally wounded; but strike! press on, and mind me not!" As he spoke, he reeled in his saddle, the rein slipped from his grasp, and his fiery steed rushed away, bearing him to the enemy and his untimely doom. "Fight, my lads, and falter not!" cried Major Harlan in the van; and the next moment his horse went down, some five or six balls lodged in his body, and he fell to rise no more. But his men remembered their orders, and fought without faltering, until but three remained alive to tell the fate of the party. "At 'em, lads!--don't spare the varmints!" said Boone, as he urged the left wing into action; and the immediate report of more than fifty rifles in that quarter, told him he was obeyed. In this wing fought Algernon, Isaac, the brother and son of Boone, with a heroic desperation worthy of Spartans; and at every fire an Indian went down before each of their deadly rifles.