Each man grasped his weapon and stood still as a statue.

This little company had posted themselves upon a knoll which commanded the house of the bloodthirsty chief.

It was their business to see that he at least did not escape from the day of vengeance.
The moments seemed hours to those men waiting and watching; but they did not wait in vain.
A blaze of fire, a simultaneous crack of firearms, and a wild shout that was like one of already earned victory, and the assailants came charging down the hillside, and across the open fields, firing volley after volley upon the sleeping town, from which astonished and bewildered savages came pouring out in a dense mass, only to fall writhing beneath the hail of bullets from the foe who had surprised them thus unawares.
But there were in that community men trained in the arts of war, who were not to be scared into non-resistance by a sudden onslaught, however unexpected.

These men occupied log houses around that of their chieftain, and instead of rushing forth, they remained behind their walls, and fired steadily back at the enemy with a rapidity and steadiness which evoked the admiration of the Colonel himself.
Fiercely rained the bullets from rank to rank.

Indians yelled and whooped; the squaws rushed screaming hither and thither; the fight waxed hotter and yet more hot.