A HERO IN THE RANKS. 



79 



the actors had no time to admire. Erect 

 in their saddles, with set and determined 

 faces, they rode on, boot to boot. 



Soon the picture changed; the column 

 formed into a long line, and halted. 

 Obeying the different commands the 

 troopers dismounted to fight on foot, a 

 guard being left with the horses, which 

 were moved behind an elevation in 

 the ground. Now the dismounted line 

 moves slowly forward, the men loosen- 

 ing the cartridges in their belts, and 

 setting their carbine sights. Closer 



A SUB-CHIEF. 



and closer they approach to the low 

 foot hills, where the Apaches are ly- 

 ing in wait. Not a shot has been 

 fired; not an Indian has been seen. 

 Now they are only 500 or 600 yards 

 from where the hostiles are supposed to 

 be, who, outnumbering the soldiers, and 

 secure in their strong position, are 

 silently awaiting the arrival of soldiers 

 in easy range. Unseen themselves, 

 they hope then to pour in a murderous 

 fire. This stand of theirs gives their 

 women and children time to escape on 

 their ponies. 



Suddenly, on the extreme right, from 

 among the rocks, a puff of white smoke- 

 is seen, followed by the ringing report 

 of a rifle. A soldier from the ranks 

 plunges forward and falls heavily on his 

 face — dead. A shudder passes through 

 the men nearest him as they close up 

 and move on — for some of them have- 

 never before met death, face to face. 

 The crest of the position held by the 

 hostiles, now becomes hidden in smoke. 

 The Indians are firing rapidly. For- 

 tunately their aim is rather wild. The 

 order is now given for the men to fire. 

 There is a crack from a hundred car- 

 bines, followed by a wild cheer as the 

 line sways forward after the volley. 

 Now it is every man for himself. Each 

 soldier loads and fires at will. The 

 Indians can be seen running between 

 the rocks and moving higher up the 

 mountain side as the soldiers close 

 in on them. The fight resolves itself 

 into a series of rushes. As fast as the 

 hostiles abandon a position it is occu- 

 pied by the soldiers. Higher and higher 

 up the mountain they go until, a few- 

 yards from the crest, they make a final 

 stand. There is no time to look after 

 fallen comrades now. The two lines 

 not over 50 yards apart, are pouring 

 lead into each other as fast as they can 

 load and fire. On level ground one 

 final charge and the fight would be over; 

 but here such a charge is impossible. 

 The mountain side is so cut up that it 

 is difficult for the soldiers to find a foot- 

 hold. The Indians have set fire to the 

 underbrush and the men are nearly 

 blinded by the smoke — the wind carry- 

 ing it into their faces. It is growing 

 darker every minute. The hostiles 

 reach the top of the mountain when, 

 abondoning their dead, all their provis- 

 ions and camp outfit, they scatter in all 

 directions, in the darkness, to come to- 

 gether again, perhaps day sand weeks 

 hence, a hundred miles over the line in 

 old Mexico, where they will join their 

 women and children. 



The trumpets now sound the recall. 

 The fight is over and the soldiers march 

 back to their horses. Everything left 

 by the hostiles is burned and the 

 wounded are tenderly carried on hastily 

 improvised litters Several men are 

 desperately wounded, but they will die a 

 soldier's death. They have done then- 

 duty. Among them is a mere lad. one who 



