men fired a ragged volley
into the woods, and the arrows stopped.

The arrow had cut through an artery and pierced Hodge's windpipe. His
breath whistled in and out through the hole in his throat, his blood
pumping out of him and soaking into his red beard.

"He is going," said Armand, kneeling beside Raoul.

"Aw no," Hodge managed to murmur.

Raoul felt sick as he watched blood fill Hodge's mouth and pour out of
it. Then the big man went limp and his eyes rolled up in his head.

"Let's get the bastards!" Raoul growled. He was left scared as hell by
Hodge's death, but he was damned if he'd show it.

They climbed over big branches knocked down by the _Victory_'s cannon
and ran in among the trees, Raoul taking the lead. Spruce branches
whipped his face.

_I must be crazy, charging into the woods like this. We could all get
what Hodge got._

High-pitched war whoops shrilled out of the forest shadows ahead, and
more arrows whistled at them.

Knowing it was only luck that none of them hit him, Raoul wanted
desperately to fire his rifle into the forest. But he forced himself not
to shoot until he could see a target.

Brown figures rushed toward him, darting from tree to tree. He fired at
a warrior leaping between the thick trunks of two pines. The Indian
disappeared, but Raoul was sure he'd missed. He jerked the breech of his
rifle open and slapped in another ball-and-powder cartridge with frantic
speed.

The same Indian reappeared from behind another tree only six feet away.
Raoul brought the rifle up and fired. The Indian fell over backward.

Another brave leaped at him from the side, swinging a tomahawk. Raoul
shifted his rifle to his left hand and pulled out his Bowie knife. The
Indian's eyes were huge and white and wild. His upraised arms left his
chest wide open, ribs showing so sharp you could count them. Raoul
lunged, thrusting the knife. The Indian's rush drove him onto the blade.
His tomahawk came down on Raoul's forearm. It hurt, but it didn't even
hit hard enough to cut through Raoul's sleeve. Raoul planted his foot in
the already-dead Indian's belly and jerked the knife out of his body.

As the warrior collapsed, Raoul noticed that his face was bare brown
skin devoid of paint. They'd even run out of war paint, he thought. In
the middle of this battle, that gave him a moment of pleasure.

Rifles were going off on both sides of him. Levi Pope fired into the
upper branches of an elm tree and whooped