He never moved again.

He was dead even before he struck the ground.
Blank silence followed this tragic denouement.

Wingenund, a cruel and relentless Indian, but never a traitor, pointed to the small bloody hole in the middle of Miller's forehead, and then nodded his head solemnly.

The wondering Indians stood aghast.

Then with loud yells the braves ran to the cornfield; they searched the laurel bushes.