The quartermaster was on the box, driving recklessly.

Only Hamlin and a dozen other men were still in saddle.

Without orders they dashed forward, spurring maddened horses into the ranks of the Indians, hurling them left and right, firing into infuriated red faces, and slashing about with dripping sabres.

Into the lane thus formed sprang the tortured mules, sweeping on with their precious load of ammunition.

Behind closed in the squad of rescuers, struggling for their lives amid a horde of savages.