CHAPTER NINE.
QUARRELLING OVER SCALPS.
Nearly simultaneous with the departure of the two horsemen came the closing scene of the conflict.

Indeed it ended on the instant of their riding off.

For of their comrades left behind there was not one upon his feet--not one able to fire another shot, or strike another blow.
All lay dead, or wounded, among the waggons; some of the dead, as the wounded, clasping the handle of a knife whose blade reeked with blood, or a pistol from whose muzzle the smoke was still oozing.
But soon among the whites there were no wounded, for the hovering host, having closed in from all sides, leaped from their horses, swarmed over the barrier between, tomahawking the last that showed signs of life, or thrusting them with their long lances, and pinning them to the sand.
Through the body of every white man at least a half-dozen spear-blades were passed, while a like number of savages stood exultingly over, or danced triumphantly around it.
And now ensued a scene that might be symbolised only among wild beasts or fiends in the infernal regions.

It was a contest for possession of the scalps of those who had fallen--each of the victors claiming one.
Some stood with bared blades ready to peel them off, while others held out hands and weapons to prevent it.

From the lips of the competitors came shouts and expostulations, while their eyes flashed fire, and their arms rose and fell in furious gesticulations.
Amidst their demoniac jargon could be heard a voice louder than all, thundering forth a command.