Outlined by the clear blue sky the magnificent animal stood for one brief instant, his black mane flying in the wind, his head thrown up and his front hoofs pawing the air like Marcus Curtius' mailed steed of old, and then down with a crash, a cloud of dust, and the crackling of pine limbs.
A long yell went up from the Indians below, while those above ran to the edge of the cliff.

With cries of wonder and baffled vengeance they gesticulated toward the dark ravine into which horse and rider had plunged rather than wait to meet a more cruel death.

The precipice at this point is over three hundred feet in height, and in places is almost perpendicular.

We believed the Major to be lying crushed and mangled on the rocks.

Imagine our frenzy of joy when we saw the daring soldier and his horse dash out of the bushes that skirt the base of the cliff, cross the creek, and come galloping to the fort in safety." "It was wonderful! Wonderful!" exclaimed Isaac, his eyes glistening.
"No wonder the Indians call you the 'Flying Chief.'" "Had the Major not jumped into the clump of pine trees which grow thickly some thirty feet below the summit he would not now be alive," said Colonel Zane.