He got within forty yards, reeling and swaying, but still trying to fit an arrow to the string, and as none of us would fire on him now, seeing that he was dying, for a moment it looked as though he would ride directly into us, and perhaps do some harm.

Then I heard the boom of the boy's carbine, and almost at the instant, whether by accident or not I could not tell, I saw the red man drop out of the forks of his saddle and roll on the ground with his arms spread out.
Perhaps never was metamorphosis more complete than that which now took place.

Shaking off detaining hands, Andrew Jackson sprang from our line, ran up to the fallen foe and in a frenzy of rage began to belabor and kick his body, winding up by catching him by the hair and actually dragging him some paces toward our firing line! An expression of absolute beatitude spread over the countenance of Mandy McGovern.

She called out as though he were a young dog at his first fight.

"Whoopee! Git to him, boy, git to him! Take him, boy! Whoopee!" We got Andrew Jackson back into the ranks.