In the growing light he could make out the king's men below him, inanimate spots in the middle of the narrow plain.

Helpless he stood clutching his pistol, the horror in him growing with each breath.
Could he give no warning?
Could he do nothing--nothing--At least he could join in the fight! He ran down the hill, swinging to the left of the Mormons.

Half way, and he stopped as a thundering cheer swept up from the shore.

The mainlanders had started toward the hill! Without rank, without order--shouting their triumph as they came they were rushing blindly into the arms of the ambush! A shriek of warning left Nathaniel's lips.

It was drowned in a crash of rifle fire.