There was no cry, but he saw the shadowy figure go down, not to rise again, and the fierce soul of Black Rifle was satisfied.
Scattered shots were fired, after another silence, and a bullet grazed the back of Grosvenor's hand, drawing a drop or two of blood.

It stung for a few moments, but, on the whole, he was proud of the little hurt.
It was a badge of honor, and made him truly a member of this great forest band.

It also stimulated his zeal, and he became eager for a shot of his own.

He watched intently and when the warriors fired again he sent his bullet at the flash, as he had seen Willet and Black Rifle do.

He did not know whether he had hit anything, but he hoped.