This was more than some of the men could do, and they,
too, had to be assisted over the deep places.

Thus wore the long and weary hours away, and though the men, who knew
how hard a trip it was, often asked, "How goes it, Billy?" he uttered no
word of complaint.

But half a day's wading, without rest or food, gradually weighted his
heels, and little by little he lagged behind his companions. The moon
came out and silvered tree and river, but the silent, plodding band had
no eyes for the glory of the landscape.

Will had fallen behind some twenty rods, but in a moment fatigue was
forgotten, the blood jumped in his veins, for just ahead of him the
moonlight fell upon the feathered head-dress of an Indian chief, who was
peering over the bank. Motionless, he watched the head, shoulders, and
body of the brave come into view. The Indian supposed the entire party
ahead, and Will made no move until the savage bent his bow.

Then he realized, with a thumping heart, that death must come to one of
his comrades or the Indian.

Even in direst necessity it is a fearful thing to deliberately take a
human life, but Will had no time for hesitation. There was a shot, and
the Indian rolled down the bank into the river.

His expiring yell was answered by others. The reds were not far away.
Frank McCarthy, missing Will, stationed guards, and ran back to look for
him. He found the lad hauling the dead warrior ashore, and seizing his
hand, cried out: "Well done, my boy; you've killed your first Indian,
and done it like a man!"

Will wanted to stop and bury the body, but being assured that it was
not only an uncustomary courtesy, but in this case quite impossible, he
hastened on. As they came up with the waiting group McCarthy called out:

"Pards, little Billy has killed his first redskin!"

The announcement was greeted with cheers, which grated on Will's ears,
for his heart was sick, and the cheers seemed strangely out of place.

Little time, however, was afforded for sentiment of any sort. Enraged
at the death of their scout, the Indians made a final charge, which was
repulsed, like the others, and after this Bill McCarthy took the lead,
with Frank at the rear, to prevent further straggling of the forces.

It was a haggard-faced band that came up to Fort Kearny with the dawn.
The wounded men were left at the post, while the others returned to the
wrecked bull-train under escort of a body of troops. They hoped to make
some salvag