A second time the unexpected volley burst from the hill, and a storm of bullets beat upon the packed mass of the savages at the edge of the water.  Henry Ware had been a true general that day.  Shif’less Sol and his men, from their height and hid among the bushes, poured volley after volley into the savages below, spurred on by their own success and the desperation of the cause.

The front wagons advanced deeper into the water and the smoke bank, and the others came, closely packed behind in a huddle.  Unearthly screams arose—­the cries of wounded or dying horses, shot by the savages.

“Cut them loose from the gear,” cried Henry, “and on! always on!”

Swift and skillful hands obeyed him, and some of the wagons, in the wild energy of the moment, were carried on, partly by a single horse and partly by the weight of those behind them.  The shouts of the savages never ceased, but above them rose the cry of the dauntless soul that now led the wagon train.  More than one savage fired at the splendid figure, never more splendid than when in battle; but always the circling smoke or the hand of Providence protected him, and he still led on, unhurt.  They were now near the middle of the river, and Shif’less Sol and his men never ceased to pour their fire over their heads and into the red ranks.

“Now!  Now!” muttered Henry, through his shut teeth.  He was praying for Tom Ross and the first fifty, and as he prayed his prayer was answered.

A great burst of fire came from the thickets on their own side of the river, and the savages were smitten on the flanks, as if by a bolt of lightning.  It seemed to them at the same moment as if the fire of the men with the wagon train, and of those on the high bluff, doubled.  They recoiled.  They gave back and they shivered as that terrible fire smote them a second and a third time on the flank.  The soul of Shawnee, Miami, and Wyandot alike filled with dread.  In vain Yellow Panther and Red Eagle, great war chiefs, raged back and forth, and encouraged their warriors to go on.  In vain they risked their lives again and again.  The great bulk of the wagons bore steadily down upon them, and they were continually lashed by an unerring fire from three points.  Well for the people of the wagon train that a born leader had planned their crossing and had led them that day!

“They give, they give!” shouted Henry Ware.  “We win, we win!”

“They give, they give!  We win, we win!” shouted the brave riflemen, and they pressed forward more strongly than ever.  By their side waded the bold Amazons, fighting with the best.

The wagons themselves offered great shelter for the pioneers.  As Henry had foreseen, they were driven forward in a mass, which was carried partly by its own impetus.  If the Indians had thought to fire chiefly upon the horses they would have accomplished more, but the few of these that were slain did not check the progress of the others.  Meanwhile, the riflemen lurked amid the wheels and behind the wagon beds, incessantly pouring their deadly hail of bullets upon the exposed savages, and the drivers from sheltered places did the same.  The train became a moving fort, belching forth fire and death upon its enemies.