“I don’t like this,” whispered Cooney Joe in the ear of Melton. “They’ve got twice as many warriors as we have, and the chances are good for a fight. I never like to back out, but I don’t know but it’s the safest plan.” “It won’t do,” said Melton. “These scoundrels will get too impudent if they are allowed their own way too much. There must be a fight, and at once, and the boys must do their best. I know them too well to think that they will back down for twice their number of Sacs.” “What does my brother say?” cried Napope. “Fight.” replied Melton. “We will go on.” Napope disappeared immediately, and scarcely had he done so when a bullet whizzed by the ear of the young scout as he hastily took to a tree. The fight now commenced in true Indian-fashion, the Sacs forcing the fighting and running from tree to tree to get nearer to their enemies. But they found a different party from that with which they had fought upon Sycamore Creek. Every bullet had its billet. Did an Indian show hand or foot from behind his shelter, it was at once the mark of a well-aimed ball. The men who followed Melton had lived by the rifle, and were not likely to miss their aim easily, while the Indians were notoriously bad marksmen, not having the patience to perfect themselves in the use of the rifle. Besides, the weapons they carried were not of the best description, being those furnished by the traders against the law, and their powder was “contract,” warranted not to burn except at a slow fire. But their numbers made the position of Melton’s small force decidedly unsafe, and they began to close in upon every side, and every moment Melton expected a charge with hatchet and knife, most fearful weapons in Indian hands. But the steady valor of the scouts had inspired the savages with a respect for them, and they fought warily, losing a man now and then, and inflicting little damage upon the foe. “They’ll charge soon, boys,” whispered Cooney Joe. “Pass the word down the line to have a charge ready for the rush. Don’t throw away a shot.” The rifles were ready when Napope gave the order, and at his signal-yell they bounded out like tigers, flourishing their bright weapons in the air. This was the moment for the Border Riflemen, and each picked his man and fired, and every bullet found a mark. Supposing the rifles empty, the Sacs rushed on, but they were mistaken, for up rose ten more riflemen, and the head of the assailants seemed to melt away before their fire. It was more than Indian endurance was equal to, and they again buried themselves in the bushes, in spite of the fierce orders of Napope, who, although severely wounded in the shoulder, urged the men on. He was ably seconded by Na-she-eschuck, who was also slightly wounded. “Well done, my lads,” cried Mellon. “Bravely done, riflemen; they have not Sycamore Creek to brag of this time, at any rate.”