So he sat quietly on his horse, revolver in hand, his blue-black eyes staring angrily at the coming storm.
"Kelly, reserfe your fire!" yelled Meyer.

"Recruits, ready--bresent--aim--aim low--fire!" Simultaneously with the report a horse in the leading group of charging savages pitched headlong on his nose and rolled over, sending his rider straight forward into a rubble of loose shales, both lying as they fell, without movement.

Half a dozen other animals either dropped on their haunches or sheered violently to the right and left, going off in wild plunges and caracolings.

By this one casualty the head of the attacking column was opened and its seemingly resistless impetus checked and dissipated, almost before Meyer could shout, "Recruits, load at will, load!" A moment previous this fiery cavalry had looked irresistible.

It seemed to have in it momentum, audacity, and dash enough to break a square of infantry or carry a battery of artillery.