Once more the mounted warriors commence galloping in circles round the butte. We perceive that at each wheel they are coming nearer, and can divine their intent. It is the very plan of attack we have been apprehending! We can tell by their gestures that they are about to charge forward to the rocks. Regardless of the fire from the plain, we creep back to the edge of the parapet, and point our pieces towards the circling horsemen. We are excited with, new apprehensions; but the caution to keep cool is once more passed around; and each resolves not to fire without being certain of his aim. On our first shots will depend the success or failure of the attack. As before, we arrange that two only shall fire at a time. If the shots prove true, and two of our foes fall to them, it may check the charge, perhaps repulse it altogether? Such often happens with an onset of Indians--on whom the dread of the fire-weapon acts with a mysterious effect. On the other hand, if we miss, our fate is sealed and certain. We shall not even have the choice of that last desperate resort, on which we have built a hope. We shall be cut off from all escape: for our animals will be gone before we can reach them. On foot, it will be idle to attempt flight. Even could we run the gauntlet through their line, we know they could overtake us upon the plain! We feel like men about to throw dice for our lives, and dice too that are loaded against us! Nearer and nearer they come, until they are coursing within fifty yards of the butte, and scarcely twice that distance from our guns. Were their bodies uncovered, we could reach them; but we see only their hands, feet, and faces--the latter only at intervals. They draw nearer and nearer, till at length they are riding within the circle of danger. Our superior elevation gives us the advantage. We begin to see their bodies over the backs of their horses. A little nearer yet, and some of these horses will go riderless over the plain! Ha! they have perceived their danger--one and all of them. Notwithstanding their cries of bravado, and mutual encouragement, they dread to make the final rush. Each fears that himself may be the victim! Our heads were growing dizzy with watching them, and we were still expecting to see some of them turn their horses, and dash inward to the butte; when we heard a signal-cry circulating through their ranks. All at once the foremost of them was seen swerving off, followed by the whole troop! Before we could recover from our surprise, they had galloped far beyond the range of our guns, and once more stood halted upon the plain! CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT. A RAMPART ON WHEELS.