Black Rifle came back in a few moments.

His dark eyes glittered, but he had wiped the knife, and it was in his belt again.
"His comrades will find him in a few minutes," said Willet, "and we'd better not linger here." "They went back toward the sawmill and presently they heard a terrible cry of rage, a cry given for the fallen warrior.
"I don't think I shall ever grow used to such yells," said Grosvenor, shuddering.
"I've never grown used to 'em yet," said Robert.
The shout was followed by a half dozen shots, and a bullet or two whistled overhead, but it was clear that all of them had been fired at random.

The warriors, aware that the chance of surprise had passed, were venting their wrath in noise.

Willet suddenly raised his own rifle and pulled the trigger.

Another dusky figure sprang up and then fell prone.
"They were coming too close," he said.