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 the Apaches from taking aim, and they fired a little too low. It was no time for hesitation, and the order was at once given to dismount and fight on foot. We could distinguish little or nothing; shot after shot was expended in the direction of the savages; now and then a dark body would be seen and made a target of as soon as seen. Each man threw himself flat upon the ground; but scarcely any could tell where his companions were. It was pre-eminently a fight in which each man was on "his own hook."

While we laid prostrate the dust settled somewhat, and we were about to obtain a good sight of the enemy, when John Wollaston cried out—"Up boys, they are making a rush." Each man rose at the word, and a hand to hand contest ensued which beggars all description. It was at this juncture that our revolvers did the work, as was afterward shown. Again the dust rose in blinding clouds, hurried up by the tramping feet of contending men. We stood as much chance to be shot by each other as by the savages. The quick rattling of pistols was heard on all sides, but the actors in this work of death were invisible. The last charge of my second pistol had been exhausted; my large knife lost in the thick dust on the road, and the only weapon left me was a small double-edged, but sharp and keen, dagger, with a black whalebone hilt, and about four inches long on the blade. I was just reloading a six-shooter, when a robust and athletic Apache, much heavier than myself, stood before me, not more than three feet off. He was naked with the single exception of a breach cloth, and his person was oiled from head to foot. I was clothed in a green hunting frock, edged with black, a pair of green pants, trimmed with black welts, and a green, broad-brimmed felt hat. The instant we met, he