Wagon Train — Mark Carrel

The Dakotas rode in, close-bunched. Kit watched them in the pall of a terrible silence - a solid rank of sixty rock-hard veterans. A spine-chilling yell rose up. The Redskins were attacking. Kit drew his pistol, cocked with a slippery thumb and raised the weapon. His breath rasped hot and dry in his throat - 'Fire!' The roll of gun-thunder, the wreathing of smoke, and the wild screams of men and horses made an appalling din.