A huge fellow faced me, a Winnebago I knew, from his shaven head.

I struck him once, laying open his cheek to the bone; then he broke through and gripped me.
The rest is what--a dream; a delirium of fever?
I know not; it comes to me in flashes of mad memory.

I was struck again and again, stabbed, and flung to the floor.

Moccasined feet trod on me, and some fiend gripped my hair, bending my head back across a dead body, until I felt the neck crack.

Above me were naked legs and arms, a pandemonium of dancing figures, a horrible chorus of maddened yells.