The Blackfeet were quick to perceive the cause, and in turn they charged upon their assailants who became immediately involved in a desperate hand to hand fight.

It was then the small arms in the possession of the whites played their part.

They were used with such effect, that the fierce warriors were compelled once more to retreat.
But the courageous red men recoiled a short distance only, when they halted and then, with exultant yells, dashed toward the trappers, who despite all they could do, were forced back until it looked as if the whole party would be overwhelmed and destroyed.
On this retreat, one of the horses belonging to the hunters was shot, and plunged to the ground so suddenly that his rider was caught before he could spring from the saddle.

Several of the warriors were quick to perceive his sore straits, and dashed toward him, eager to secure his scalp.

The poor fellow struggled desperately, but could not extricate himself, and his expression of horrified despair when he perceived the fierce red men running a race with each other to reach him, would have melted the heart of almost any one.
Carson was several rods distant, but seeing the danger of his friend, he bounded out of his saddle, and shouted to the others to rally to the defence of their imperilled comrade.