The attack upon their flank came so swiftly that the Comanches were taken by surprise. As their own skirmishers fled, the white force galloped in upon their heels. Yet these bold warriors, kings of the plains, victors in many a battle over other tribes and Mexicans, fought with a courage and tenacity worthy of their race and traditions. They were marshaled, too, by a chief who had returned to his own, the great Black Panther, and by able assistants. Middleton’s daring men met a storm of arrows am bullets, but they charged on, although some saddles were emptied. They were at the edge of the timber now, the mounted white men poured in a deadly fire. The sound of the shots became a steady, incessant crackle Puffs of smoke arose, and, uniting, formed a canopy of vapor. The odor of gunpowder spread and filled the nostrils of the combatants. Shots, the trampling of hoofs, the cries of the wounded and dying rung upon the drums of their ears. It was a terrific medley, seemingly all confusion, but really fought with order by skilled leaders. Black Panther had one half of his warriors to face the wagons and horsemen in the river and the other half faced south to beat off Middleton’s troop, if it could. He himself passed from one to another, encouraging them by every art that he knew, and they were many. But it was Middleton’s men who gave the deathblow. They struck so hard and so often that it was continually necessary for Black Panther to send more of his warriors to the defense of his flank. The firing upon the wagons and horsemen in the river slackened, and they rushed forward. The horsemen gained the bank, and, at the same time, Middleton’s men charged with greater fire than ever. Then the horsemen from the ford rushed up the ascent and joined in the attack. Compressed between the two arms of a vise, the Comanches, despite every effort of Black Panther and his chiefs, gave way. Yet they did not break into any panic. Springing on their horses, they retired slowly, sending back flights of arrows and bullets, and now and then uttering the defiant war whoop. Meanwhile, the last of the wagons emerged from the river, and was dragged up the ascent. Although the Comanches might yet shout in the distance, the crossing was won, and everybody in the train felt a mighty sense of relief. CHAPTER IV ON WATCH The wagons drew up in a great square on the open plain, but just at the edge of the timber, and the men, breathless, perspiring, but victorious, dropped from their horses. The Comanches still galloped to and fro and shouted in the distance, but they kept well out of rifle shot, and Phil, although it was his first battle, knew that they would not attack again, at least not for the present. They had been driven out of an extremely strong position, ground of their own choosing, and nothing remained to them but to retire.