I pulled my tomahawk and went around the head of the island and found the redskin leanin' against a big log.

He was a young brave and a fine lookin strong feller.

He was tryin' to stop the blood from my bullet-hole in his side.

When he saw me he tried to get up, but he was too weak.

He smiled, pointed to the wound and said: 'Deathwind not heap times bad shot.' Then he bowed his head and waited for the tomahawk.