Colonel
Winchester looked at the great columns of fire and smoke in front of him.
He did not know when the main attack would sweep down upon them again,
but he took his resolution at once.
He ordered his men to wheel about, and, using Slade's own tactics,
to creep forward with their rifles. Most of his men were sharpshooters
and he felt that they would be a match for those whom the guerrilla led.
Sergeant Whitley kept by his side, and out of a vast experience in border
warfare advised him.
Dick, Warner and Pennington armed themselves with rifles of the fallen,
and they felt fierce thrills of joy as they crept forward. Burning with
the battle fever, and enraged against this man Slade, Dick put all his
soul in the man-hunt. He merely hoped that Victor Woodville was not
there. He would fire willingly at any of the rest.
Before they had gone far Slade and his riflemen began to fire. Bullets
pattered all about them, clipping twigs and leaves and striking sparks
from stones.
Had the fire been unexpected it would have done deadly damage, but all of
the Winchesters, as they liked to call themselves, had kept under cover,
and were advancing Indian fashion.
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