Napope collected his men under cover of the bushes, but his heart was full of anger against the gallant band of scouts, whom he had expected to sweep from the path in that headlong charge. So far from doing that, over one-third of his men were placed _hors de combat_, and several more partially disabled. Aroused by the invectives of the two chiefs, they again began to advance, but more cautiously, sliding from tree to tree, with great care, and exposing themselves as little as possible in doing so. But the riflemen managed to inflict new damage upon them before they came in fair charging distance. Napope had separated his force into three parts, sending out a small party upon each flank of the white force, and Melton was compelled to detach eight men, four upon each flank, to keep off these troublesome flanking-parties. This left him but twelve men in his main force, opposed to over thirty determined warriors, eager for the blood of those who had slain so many of their friends. “We have got ourselves into a pizen scrape, Cap,” said Cooney Joe, as he stood with his back against a tree, looking to the priming of his rifle; “but thar’s only one way to do, and that is to fight our way out. We kin lick ’em if more don’t come; _that’s_ what I’m afraid of.” At this moment the rush was made, and as before, the whites divided their fire, so as to give the Indians two volleys before they reached the trees, and then with yells which vied with those of the Indians, they formed a line among the trees, and beat back the savages with knife, hatchet, and clubbed rifle. It was a desperate affair while it lasted, and the wild valor of the scouting party prevailed, and they were driving back the Indians step by step, when one of the men who had been sent to the right flank came running up. “Party of Injins coming across the plain, on a run, Cap,” he reported. “I reckon we’d better git.” “Easier said than done,” said the captain, turning aside a blow with his heavy knife. “Shoot that fellow, Ed.” The borderer brought his rifle to his shoulder, and the savage fell, shot through the heart. “Have the Indians on the flanks retreated, Ed?” demanded Melton, as he fired a pistol at a savage who was poising his hatchet for a throw, and the savage went down. “No, they ain’t all gone yet,” replied the man, who was coolly reloading his discharged rifle. “I guess we’d better call in the men and make a rush through these red devils, before the others can come up.”