James used the ax to shield himself from the second swing of the saber, this time twisting the handle’s end around and driving it with force against the soldier’s ribs. Breath gusted from the man. James dropped the ax and grabbed the sword arm, giving the man a hard pull. The soldier was already off balance, so James managed to yank him from the saddle and bring him crashing to the ground. The man landed atop the sword. The point of it drove into his leg. He screamed in surprise and pain.

The other soldier brought up the blunderbuss. James stepped quickly behind the downed soldier’s horse, trying to put it between him and the man with the firearm. He heard the blast and felt the horse take the impact. The animal screamed, jumped twice and went down, its thrashing hind legs striking the soldier who was on the ground. The soldier cursed.

James saw that the man still on horseback was trying hard to reload the weapon. James picked up the ax and flung it in that direction, spooking the horse and causing the man to lose the gunpowder he had poured in the palm of his hand for placement down the hot barrel. James made a quick dash across the open ground toward his own rifle. Grabbing it, he dodged behind the pile of logs and dropped down. He brought up the rifle, cocking the hammer back. He took a quick bead on the soldier still on horseback, but judgment stayed him from squeezing the trigger.

If he fired, he would be defenseless during the moments he was reloading. That blunderbuss would almost surely get him. And if it missed, the sergeant had moved up closer with a weapon of his own. But this way, his rifle loaded, James remained a lethal threat to the horsemen. The nearest soldier swung quickly to the ground and put his horse between James and himself.

One horse was dying, though it was not of James’s doing. It would be useless for him to kill the second. That would only leave him vulnerable, an empty rifle in his hands.

The matter went to a standstill for a minute or two. James watched the soldier over his sights, the rifle leaned against the top log of the stack. The soldier had his blunderbuss leveled across the seat of his saddle, though his nervous, fidgeting horse made it impossible for him to hold the barrel still.

The other horse still thrashed, fighting death as its blood pumped upon the ground in measured spurts. The soldier whose leg was cut crawled behind the downed horse, trying to use it for a shield from James’s rifle but also trying to avoid the hoofs that lashed out in blind agony.

The sergeant held back, still shouting angry orders that went unheeded.

James’s bay horse had spooked and dragged the log at the end of the rawhide rope until it caught against the others and wedged, stopping him beside the stack. He pitched, fighting in vain against the rope. James tried to talk to him in a soothing voice but dared not step out to grab the reins.