Al's horse, though of course new to him, was an old campaigner which had gone out from Fort Randall on more than one forced march. His name, Cottontail, had doubtless been bestowed upon him by some former soldier rider in humorous reference to his fluffy tail, which was almost white. He could be trusted to stand through any amount of noise or excitement if his reins were, thrown over his head so that they hung on the ground at his feet. Al left him thus, standing alone, and running forward, dropped down in the ring of dismounted men beside Corporal Wright. For a few moments the Indians kept out of sight. Then something rose above the rim of the buffalo wallow and Al, who was watching that spot with intense eagerness as he lay sprawled in the short prairie grass, raised his rifle to fire. But the corporal slapped down the barrel. "Don't shoot at that," said he, "or the boys'll laugh at you. It isn't a redskin; it's just a breech cloth they're sticking up to draw our fire. Look closer." Al looked as directed and saw, on more careful scrutiny, that it was, indeed, only a piece of cloth. None of the men fired at it, but some of them hooted derisively, for they knew that the Indians' scheme was to draw a volley, when they could safely spring up and fire at their besiegers before the latter could reload. Al lowered his rifle in disgust. "How are we going to get them if they never stick their heads up?" he inquired, impatiently. "Well, they can stay and starve to death," answered Wright, grinning. "We're able to hold out longer at that game than they are. But Captain'll order us to charge pretty soon if they don't do something." However, the Indians could not stand the suspense. Their ruse having failed, one of them soon raised his gun and then his head above the edge of the hole and fired quickly at the first soldier he sighted. His aim was bad and he had misjudged the alertness of his foes. Almost before he had shot, a dozen carbines cracked and he dropped back more suddenly than he had risen. All those in the encircling line heard, or thought they heard, the dull thud of the bullets as they struck him. A disjointed cheer ran round among the men. "There goes one of the murderers!" they shouted. "Now for the next." The circle began to contract, the men crawling and hitching forward, a few inches at a time. For some minutes this was kept up on all sides of the hole, until they had approached within a few rods of it. Still the Indians gave no sign. Then again the soldiers heard, plainly audible in the silence, the persuasive voice of Captain Miner, raised slightly above its ordinary tone; "Charge, boys, charge!"