There was still sufficient light to see the Indians more or less clearly as they deployed in four large columns until they completely encircled the little fort.  
They did not advance immediately to the attack, as the defenders expected. Instead, they sat on their horses like bronze statues, as soon as they had taken up their positions.
 
The men of the little garrison, clutching their rifles tightly, waited impatiently for the fray behind the log walls where they lay concealed.
 
In a few moments three men rode out from the Indian host, one of them, in the center, bearing a white flag, which he waved above his head as he approached the walls of the fort.
 
He was a man of gigantic stature, and he rode a big horse which absolutely dwarfed the small ponies of his companions.
 
As he halted about twenty yards outside the fort, Buffalo Bill could see at a glance that he was a white man, although he was dressed in the paint and feathers of a Sioux chieftain.
 
His two companions were redskins, one being a Cheyenne and the other a Crow. Thus the three tribes which had entered into a confederacy were represented under the flag of truce.
 
“That’s the renegade Irishman, sure enough!” said Buffalo Bill to the colonel, who nodded agreement.
 
Kennelly, the renegade, otherwise known as Bad Eye, reined up his horse and shouted, in English:
 
 
“We want to come inside the fort to discuss terms of surrender with you.”
 
“This fort will never surrender while I am in command,” the colonel answered, “and we will hold no talk with renegades and murderers. Go back to your redskin allies at once, unless you want a bullet through your head!”
 
The renegade had expected this answer, but he had had a lingering hope that he might have been allowed inside the fort on the pretense of discussing terms of surrender, and then he would have been able to gain some valuable information as to the number of the garrison and the strength of the defenses.
 
His disappointment showed plainly in the vicious grin which flitted for a moment over his evil face. His left eye, which had a squint, glared horribly.
 
It was this defect that had gained for him his Sioux name, Bad Eye.
 
He shook the rein of his horse, and tried to urge the animal right underneath the wall of the fort; but before it had advanced three steps a bullet from Buffalo Bill’s rifle cut a feather from the headdress of the rider.
 
As Kennelly hastily reined his horse back, Buffalo Bill sang out:
 
“The next bullet will go through your head, Bad Eye, unless you clear out at once. The white flag was never meant to protect such scoundrels as you are.”
 
Seeing that nothing further was to be gained, the three men turned their horses and rode back to the ranks of the Indians.
 
Before he departed, however, the representative of the Cheyennes drew his scalping knife, and sent it hurtling through the air at the log wall of the fort, where it stuck, quivering. Then he raised his arm and uttered a defiant war cry.
 
 
One of the soldiers lifted his rifle to shoot the brave, but Buffalo Bill struck the weapon upward before the man could fire.
 
“He has a right to defy us,” said the border king, “and he is a brave man. We won’t shoot him under the white flag, even if he is a redskin.”
 
No sooner had the three envoys retreated than the Indians began their attack.
 
True to their natural instincts, they were cautious at first, beginning by long-range firing.
 
Some of them dashed toward the walls of the fort on horseback, circling around and lying down in the saddle to avoid presenting an easy mark. They fired their rifles, and then retreated hastily.
 
But the greater portion of the Indian army dismounted and advanced to the attack on foot, taking advantage of every bit of cover they could find.
 
Following out Buffalo Bill’s suggestion, the garrison only made a feeble reply to the heavy fusillade poured in upon them.
 
The volleys of the Indians did little harm, most of their bullets burying themselves harmlessly in the thick walls of the log fort.
 
Two of the soldiers were killed by bullets which entered the loopholes through which they were firing, and three others were slightly wounded.
 
On the other hand, at least a dozen redskins bit the dust in the first few minutes’ fighting, although only twenty or thirty men fired at them.
 
They approached nearer to the fort, and the colonel ordered another twenty-five men to join the firing party.
 
By gradually increasing the resistance, he wanted to make it appear that he was putting forth his greatest possible effort to repel the onslaught.
 
Suddenly there was a loud war whoop, which Buffalo[24] Bill recognized as coming from the renegade, Kennelly.
 
Next moment the entire force of the Indians leaped to their feet and charged toward the fort, uttering a chorus of frightful yells that would have made the blood of most men run cold.
 
When the leaders of the host were within about thirty yards of the walls, the colonel shouted:
 
“Now, boys, let them have it!”
 
Instantly there was a blaze of flame all around the fort.
 
Over five hundred rifles discharged their dreaded messengers of death at the same moment, and the four field guns, posted one at each corner of the fort, hailed shell at the advancing Indians, tearing terrible gaps in their ranks.
 
It was impossible for any army to withstand such a sudden and fearful shock. The redskins halted with one accord, as if they had suddenly been struck with paralysis.
 
Next moment they turned and fled, in spite of the frantic efforts of their chiefs to rally them.
 
Another volley was poured into them as they ran, and they fell all around the fort by dozens.
 
The colonel hastily gave orders for a sortie and a charge, with the idea of cutting them up as they fled and keeping them on the run.
 
The horses were at hand, all saddled, for this purpose, and in less than two minutes three hundred men were speeding from the fort, headed by Buffalo Bill.
 
But by this time the Indians had reached their own horses and were galloping away in all directions. Many of them were shot before they could escape, and the rest were chased for two or three miles, until they began to bunch together in strong parties and return the fire of the white men.
 
 
Then Buffalo Bill, who had been placed in charge of the pursuing party by the colonel, ordered a retreat to the fort.
 
He did not wish to get too far away in the darkness and risk spoiling the great victory by a subsequent reverse.
 
The Indians still greatly outnumbered the band under his command, and if they turned on him they would be able to do serious damage. He, therefore, gave them a parting volley and rode back at the head of his men.
 
“I reckon we must have killed at least two hundred of them around the walls of the fort,” said the colonel, clasping him warmly by the hand. “How many did you get in the pursuit?”
 
“Fifty or sixty, as nearly as I can figure it,” replied the border king.
 
It was a great victory, and it had been bought at a comparatively trifling cost. Only about a dozen of the defenders had been killed, most of them during the pursuit, and not more than twenty were wounded.
 
“Do you suppose the redskins have had enough?” asked the colonel.
 
“No, I don’t,” Buffalo Bill said. “Of course, this is a galling repulse for them, but all three of the tribes are brave and persevering in warfare, especially the Sioux. This defeat will merely enrage them and make them all the more anxious to have revenge on Uncle Sam’s troopers.”
 
Wild Bill rode at this moment to the two men as they stood talking. He was mounted on one of the swiftest horses in the fort, and he led another splendid animal, which he offered to Buffalo Bill.
 
“These are the best beasts I could pick out of the bunch, Buffler,” he said.
 
 
Buffalo Bill mounted without a word, and offered his hand to the colonel.
 
“Where are you going?” asked the astonished officer.
 
“Where else but to Fort Hays,” said Buffalo Bill. “We had arranged to ride there as soon as it was dark, and if you will hand us the dispatch we will get off at once.”
 
“But the country is full of the fleeing Indians,” the colonel objected, “and there is not one chance in ten thousand of your getting through. It is sheer madness to attempt to ride under these new conditions.”
 
The border king laughed lightly, and said:
 
“We are still waiting for that dispatch, colonel.”
 
The officer looked at him steadily for a moment, and saw that argument would be useless. Nothing would turn the gallant and famous scout from his heroic purpose. Nor was Wild Bill one whit less resolute.
 
Without another word, the colonel took the dispatch from his pocket and handed it to Buffalo Bill. Then he shook the two scouts by the hand, and a minute later they were galloping away in the direction of Fort Hays.