The red men, disappointed by the failure of their first charge, have retreated back to a safe distance.

The death-dealing bullets of the whites, of which they have had fatal proof, hold them there.
But the pause is not likely to be for long, as their gestures indicate.
On one side of the circle a body of them clumped together hold counsel.
Others gallop around it, bearing orders and instructions that evidently relate to a changed plan of attack.

With so much blood before their eyes, and the bodies of their slain comrades, it is not likely they will retire from the ground.

In their shouts there is a ring of resolved vengeance, which promises a speedy renewal of the attack.
"Who do you think they are ?" asks Frank Hamersley, the proprietor of the assaulted caravan.

"Are they Comanches, Walt ?" "Yis, Kimanch," answers the individual thus addressed; "an' the wust kind o' Kimanch.