“Yes, he wan't much of a shot, and he would raise his head to see what was going on. I heard your brother tell him more than once to keep down,” said Rogers resentfully. The fight continued until the sun sank beyond the ragged lines of peaks; and its glory turned first to grey and then deepened into twilight; a twilight through which the horsemen moved vaguely like shadows; then suddenly the attack ceased; the brisk volleys dwindled to a few straggling shots, and silence usurped the place of sound, silence absolute and supreme. Bushrod turned to Rogers who rose slowly and stood erect. “I reckon it's over until daylight comes again,” he said. They lifted Dunlevy into one of the wagons and drew his blanket over his face. Now that the excitement of the day was past, a deadly weariness had come upon them; they were oppressed and silent; they ached like men who had been bruised and beaten. Looking about them they saw things that they had not seen before; two of their mules were dead, and three others wounded, the wagon covers were in tatters. They seemed hours away from the fight in point of time, and yet their ears still roared with the sound of crashing volleys, the clatter of hoofs, a medley of yells and shrieks; yet while these sounds had been in actual continuance they had scarcely heard them. When they had eaten a few cold mouthfuls. Rogers said: “I'm going to take the first watch. Mr. Landray you'll relieve me; your brother can follow you; and Bingham and Walsh can finish out the night together. I reckon I needn't tell you all, that you'd best get what sleep you can.” And with this he took up his rifle, crossed the barrier, and with noiseless step made the circuit of the wagons. The enemy had withdrawn to the cottonwoods where their blazing camp-fires were now plainly visible. At his back in the shelter of the forted wagons, his companions had huddled close together in the darkness, and were now talking in whispers; he heard nothing of what they said, and presently the murmur of their voices ceased entirely.