They were Campeachy Indians, whom the Mexicans had brought with them from their far country and, splendid stalkers and skirmishers, they were now proving their worth.

Better marksmen than the Mexicans, naked to the waist, their dark faces inflamed with the rage to kill, they wormed themselves forward like snakes, flattened against the ground, taking advantage of every hillock or ridge, and finding many a victim in the hollow.

Far back, the Mexican officers sitting on their horses watched their work with delighted approval.
Ned was not a sharpshooter like the Panther or Davy Crockett, but he was a sharpshooter nevertheless, and, driven by the sternest of all needs, he was growing better all the time.

He saw another black head raised for a moment above a hillock, and a muzzle thrust forward, but he fired first.

The head dropped back, but the rifle fell from the arms and lay across the hillock.