The stream itself was not more than twenty yards wide. One could pass it in a few minutes, if nothing was thrown across the way, and Phil now began to feel that the unspoken alarm was false. But just when the feeling became a conviction and the wagons were not more than twenty yards from the river, he saw something gleaming in the brush on the far shore. It was the dyed feather of an eagle, and it made a blood red spot against the green bushes. Looking closely Phil saw beneath the feather the light copper face of an Indian, and then he knew that the Comanches were there. Scarcely a second after he saw the coppery face, a hurricane of arrows whistled from the covert on the far shore. The short shafts of the Comanches filled the air. Mingled with them was the sharp crashing of rifles, and bullets and arrows whistled together. Then came the long yell of the Comanches, from scores of throats, high pitched, fierce, defiant, like the scream of a savage beast about to leap upon its prey. In spite of all his resolution, Phil felt that strong shiver in every nerve from head to heel. Some of the shafts were buried to the feather in the bodies of the horses and mules, and a terrible tumult arose as the animals uttered their screaming neigh and fought and kicked in pain and terror. Nor did the men escape. One, pierced through the throat by a deadly barb, fell lifeless from his horse. Another was stricken in the breast, and a dozen were wounded by either arrows or bullets. The train was thrown into confusion, and the drivers pulled back on their lines. Sure death seemed to hover in front of them. The greatest danger arose from the wounded and frightened horses, which plunged and struggled and tried to break from their harness, but the hands on the lines were strong, and gradually they were reduced to order. The wagons, also, were driven back a little, and then the triumphant Comanches sent forth their war whoop again and again. The short shafts once more flew in showers, mingled as before with the whistling of the bullets, but most of the missiles, both arrows and bullets, fell short. Now the Comanches appeared thickly among the bushes, chiefly on foot, their horses left at the edge of the timber, and began to make derisive gestures. It seemed to Phil that the crossing of the river was impossible in the face of such a fierce and numerous foe, but Middleton and Woodfall had been conferring, and suddenly the Cap, to use his more familiar name among the men, whirled off to the south at the head of a hundred horsemen. He waved his hand to his three partners, and they galloped with the band. "There must be another crossing, not as good as this, but still a crossing," said Bill Breakstone. "If at first you don’t succeed, then try, try again."