Houston agreed, reluctantly, that this was very likely so, and that remaining in the vicinity of the village, now that they had secured all the information possible, was useless. So they drew off silently as they had approached; when they reached the spot where their horses had been tied, they could hear the savage barking of the village dogs lifted to a higher pitch than ever; and as they mounted and rode away, the other unmistakable noises from the town showed that the hostiles had been aroused from their sleep and were even then preparing to meet the hated paleface. Houston, a half hour later, had reported the facts they had gathered to Colonel Coffee; and in a few minutes more the entire command, horse and foot, was once more upon the march. As quietly as possible the leader advanced his men toward Tallushatchee and drew a line about it. Dawn showed itself palely in the eastern sky; the savages caught sight of their foes with the first slanting rays, and a yell of defiance and hate went up from them. The same rays showed Colonel Coffee the strength of the Indian position. In spite of the fact that his force outnumbered that of the Creek warriors, that leader, knowing the work ahead before the Creek nation was subdued, and knowing that every man would be needed, looked troubled. “They will pick a half hundred off like flies if we rush them as they are now,” said he. So, craftily, he began to plan to draw them out; by a feint he accomplished this. Thinking they saw a chance to strike a deadly blow, the Creeks rushed forward with exultant yells. But the whites closed around them like a ring of iron and there began a most desperate combat. Rifles cracked, pistols exploded vengefully, tomahawks and hunting knives rose and fell in the mêlée. It was the first engagement of the sort in which Frank Lawrence had ever been; but he stood shoulder and shoulder with Jack and fired and struck with purpose and deliberation. To all intents he was as steady as a veteran. Jack had taken part in more than one desperate affray with the red men in his expeditions into their hunting country, and so he was more or less familiar with their methods. “Look out for the wounded Creeks,” he advised Frank as he reloaded his piece. “They are never too weak to strike another blow. And they are not always dead when they appear to be so. They have a habit of lying quiet and entangling your legs when you come within reach, and pulling you down within reach of a knife.” Colonel Coffee raged among the Indians like an infuriated giant. His great sword rose and fell; he always had a clear space around him which his weapon’s sweep constantly made larger. Ensign Houston fought like a panther. He seemed to glory in the dangers which beset him; wherever the battle raged thickest he plunged with his shining face and wild laugh, and the bravest of the Creeks shrank from his crashing blows. Tighter and tighter closed the steel-like ring about the red men.