The man, uttering a single sound, a sort of gasp, fell dead, and Taylor stood over him, still trembling with rage.

In an instant Henry seized him and dragged him down, and then a Seneca bullet whistled where he had been.
"He was one of the worst at Wyoming-I saw him!" exclaimed young Taylor, still trembling all over with passion.
"He'll never massacre anybody else.

You've seen to that," said Henry, and in a minute or two Taylor was quiet.

The sharpshooting continued, but here as elsewhere, the Iroquois had the worst of it.

Despite their numbers, they could not pass nor flank that line of deadly marksmen who lay behind trees almost in security, and who never missed.