In spite of the presence of their white associates, the tactics of these latter did not differ materially from what they must have been had they been alone. They circled about the hill evidently keenly sensible of the fact that there existed a zone of deadly peril into which it was not wise to venture; on the outer edge of this they hung with noisy zeal, and it was only when some one of their number more daring and reckless than his fellows dashed in toward the wagons, that the men on the hill levelled their rifles; but they were not long in discovering that these displays of prowess were more than likely to be attended by fatal consequences; for twice Rogers stopped them in mid career; once Bushrod was similarly successful; he killed the pony and crippled the Indian; then as he showed a disinclination to fire on a wounded man, Rogers who had withheld his hand out of consideration for what he conceived to be his friend's rights in the matter, made the shot for him. “That's three!” he cried in high good humour. “I tell you, Lan-dray, you mustn't hang back from giving them their full dose. It's them or us, and I'm all in favour of it being them.” “How long will this last?” asked Bushrod, crouching at his elbow. “Why don't they come in where we can get at them?” “It's their notion of fighting; they'll draw off when night falls.” “I suppose there is no hope of their drawing off entirely?” “Not until they've had a fair try at us.” While he was speaking his gun had been thrust cautiously over the top of the barricade, and fired at a savage who had ventured within easy range, but the light was now uncertain and the bullet sped wide of its mark. With a muttered oath he turned to Bushrod. But before Landray could bring his rifle to bear on the savage the latter's gun was discharged, and Dunlevy at the opposite side of the barricade rose from his knees with a startled cry, spun round once and fell back among the mules. Walsh who was nearest him, turned a white scared face on Stephen. “Poor Dunlevy's hurt I think! Won't you help him, Mr. Landray? I can't, the sight of his blood makes me ill.” But Rogers had already crept to the teamster's side; he reached out a hand and pushed the boy back in his place. “Never mind him, you keep out of sight,” he said quietly. “Do you mean he's dead!” cried Walsh. Here Bushrod Landray's warning cry recalled the Californian to his post. “They seem to be forming for a charge,” he said. “And they're nearer than they need be,” rejoined Rogers, throwing his rifle to his shoulder. The group melted away at the flash, but one of the savages tumbled from his saddle and lay as he had fallen until one of his friends crept up on hands and knees and dragged the body off; at him the Californian fired again, but apparently without effect. “The varments will fetch away their dead and wounded every time if they can!” he said. “Dunlevy was killed outright?” asked Landray.