The warrior, a Huron, was the heavier though not the taller of the two, and recognizing an enemy, a hated Iroquois, he stared fiercely into the eyes that were so close to his.

Then he struck, but, agile as a panther, Tayoga leaped aside, and the next instant his own blade went home.

The Huron sank down without a sound, and the Onondaga stood over him, the spirit of his ancestors swelling in fierce triumph.
But the feeling soon died in the heart of Tayoga.

His second nature, which was that of his white training and association, prevailed.

He was sorry that he had been compelled to take life, and, dragging the heavy body much farther away, he hid it in the bushes.