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It seemed to Phil that the crossing of the river wasimpossible in the face of such a fierce and numerous foe, but Middleton and Woodfall had been conferring, andsuddenly the Cap, to use his more familiar name amongthe men, whirled off to the south at the head of a hundredhorsemen. 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 firstyou don't succeed, then try, try again."
This flanking movement was hidden from theComanches on the other shore by the belt of timber on theside of the train, and the horsemen galloped along rapidlyin search of a declivity. Phil's heart was thumping, andspecks floated before his eyes, but he was well among theforemost, and he rode with them, stride for stride.Behind him he heard the crackle of rifle shots, the shouts ofthe Comanches, and the defiant replies of the white men.
"Keep a good hold on your rifle, Phil!" shouted BillBreakstone in his ear. "If the gods whisper truly to me,we will be in the water soon, and, by my faith, you'llneed it."
The Captain uttered a shout of joy. They had cometo a place where the bank sloped down to the river andthe opposite shore was capable of ascent by horses.
"Into the river, men, into the river!" he shouted."The horses may have to swim, but we can cross it! Wemust cross it before the main Indian force comes up!"
The whole troop galloped into the water. Middletonshouted to them to keep their rifles dry, and every manheld his above his head or on his shoulder. The muddywater splashed in Phil's face, but he kept by the side ofBreakstone, and in a few moments both their horses wereswimming.
"Let the horse have his head, Phil," said Breakstone."He'll make for the nearest land, and you canuse both your hands for the work that we now haveto do."
Phil dropped the rein, and the horse swam steadily.They were now about the middle of the stream, which waswider here than at the ford. Two or three brown facessuddenly appeared in the brash on the bank in front ofthem, and the savage cry arose. Comanche skirmishershad discovered the flank movement, but the white troopwas already more than half way across.
Bullets werefired at the swimming men and horses. Some struck inflesh, but others dashed up jets of yellow foam.
"On! On!" cried Middleton. "We must gain the bank!"
"On! On!" cried Phil, borne on by excitement."We must gain the bank!"
He was carried away so much by the fire and movementof the moment that he did not feel fear. His bloodwas tingling in every vein. Myriads of red specksdanced before him. The yellow water splashed all abouthim, but he did not notice it. An arrow whizzed by hischeek, and two bullets struck near, but he continued tourge his horse, which, gallant animal, was already doinghis best. Some of the white men, even from the unsteadyposition of a swimming horse's back, had begun to fire atthe Indians in the brush. Phil heard Bill Breakstoneutter a deep sigh of satisfaction as he lowered the muzzleof his rifle.
"Got one," said Bill. "It's good to be zealous, butthat Comanche ought to have known more than to runsquare against a rifle bullet."
The feet of Phil's horse touched earth, and he beganto wade. Everything now depended upon an instant ortwo. If they could gallop up the declivity before theComanches could arrive in force they would secure a greatadvantage. But the Comanches were coming rapidly, andthe fire from their bows and rifles increased. The whitemen, now that their position was steadier, also fired morerapidly. Phil sent a bullet at a bronze figure that he sawdarting about in the undergrowth, but he could not tellwhether or not he had hit.
"On!" shouted Middleton. "Give them no chance!Rush the slope!"
They were out of the river now, and in among thebushes and weeds. But they did not stop there. Drippingwith the yellow water, streaked sometimes with red, they rode straight at the Comanches, shouting and firingwith both rifles and pistols. The Indian skirmishersgave way, and, jumping upon their ponies, gallopeddown the stream to the main ford. The white menuttered a cry of exultation. They were now on thewestern bank, and the flank movement was a complete success.
"Follow them!" shouted Middleton. "We must presshome the attack upon the main body!"
Ahead of them the Comanches, bent low on theirmustangs, were galloping over the plain. Behind came thewhite men, hot with the fire of battle and urging on theirhorses. Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg rode kneeto knee, the boy between. He was wet from head to footwith splashed water, but he did not know it. A bullethad touched the tip of one ear, covering it with blood, but he did not know that, either. There was no crueltyin his nature, but just now it thrilled with battle. Hesought a shot at the flying Comanches, but they were toofar away.
"Hold your fire,"' said Bill Breakstone. "The battleis not over yet by any means. A job that's half finishedisn't finished at all."