I had given White an old red-lined coat, one which I had worn conspicuously in a number of battles, and which the Indians had marked as a special target on that account.
A party of Indians had been driven from among the lodges into a narrow gorge, and some of the soldiers, among them Captain Charles King, had gone after them.

As they were proceeding cautiously, keeping tinder cover as much as possible, King observed White creeping along the opposite bluff, rifle in hand, looking for a chance at the savages huddled below, and hoping to distract their fire so they would do as little damage as possible to the soldiers who were closing in on them.
White crawled along on all-fours till he reached a stunted tree on the brim of the ravine.

There he halted, brought his rifle to his shoulder in readiness to aim and raised himself slowly to his feet.

He was about to fire, when one of the Indians in the hole below spotted the red-lined coat.

There was a crack, a puff of smoke, and White toppled over, with a bullet through his heart.