nd this one
dropped before you had fired at all," I persisted, indignant that
Plunkett, who had wished to run away in the beginning should claim to
have done all the execution that had been accomplished.

"Keep cool, Phil," laughed Plunkett. "That redskin dropped when I
fired."

"We will settle that matter another time," I answered, leading the way
towards the house.

We passed the Indian who had fallen. He was not dead, and I saw
Plunkett fixing his bayonet, evidently with the intention of finishing
the work I had begun. I protested, and so did Morgan, against his
course. The savage reclined on one side, resting upon his elbow. He had
torn away his blanket, so that we could see where the ball had struck
him in the hip.

"You didn't fire that ball, Plunkett," said Morgan. "You couldn't have
hit him there from the place where you fired."

"What's the reason I couldn't?" demanded the braggart.

"Because the Indian was running ahead of you, and you couldn't have hit
him on the side of the hip. Phil was up by the house, and his shot did
it. Half his nose is gone, and he has a wound on the back of the head."

"He turned round when I fired; but I will finish him," said Plunkett,
approaching the Indian with his bayonet pointed at him.

"No!" I shouted, earnestly. "It is murder."

The Indian, who had watched us with savage dignity, apparently
regardless of the pain his three wounds must have given him, suddenly
grasped his tomahawk, and raised himself as far as his injured hip
would permit. He looked ugly and defiant, and Plunkett paused.

CHAPTER XIX.

IN WHICH PHIL CONDUCTS THE RAFT TO THE LANDING, AND MORGAN FIRES THE
BIG GUN.

"Let him alone, Plunkett," said Morgan.

"He will throw his tomahawk at you," I added.

"I can shoot him," replied the coward, retreating backwards with more
haste than dignity.

"If you do, I'll report you to Lieutenant Jackson," continued Morgan.

"I don't believe in leaving your work to be done over again," growled
Plunkett. "What's to prevent this Indian from killing some of us, when
he gets a chance?"

"We are not Indians, and we don't kill the wounded," replied Morgan.
"Come along; we are fooling away our time."

We went up to Mr. Gracewood's house, and entered it. The Indians had
been there before us. In the middle of the floor was a pile of goods,
which they had intended to carry down to the boat. They had done no
injury to the building, though they would doubtl