quite still. Paul could see the brown figure, and he knew that the
man was dead.

"It was Tom Ross who did that," said Shif'less Sol. "The savage leaned too
fur forward when he fired at me, an' exposed hisself. Served him right fur
tryin' to hurt me."

Then Sol, who had raised himself up a little, lay down again in his
comfortable position. He did not seem disturbed at all, but Paul kept
gazing at the figure of the dead warrior. Once more his spirit recoiled at
the need of taking life. Presently came a spatter of rifle fire--a dozen
shots, perhaps--and bullets clipped turf and trees. The Shawnees had crept
much nearer, and were in a wide semicircle, hoping thus to uncover their
foes, at least in part, and they had a little success, as one man, named
Brewer, was hit in the fleshy part of the arm.

Paul saw nothing but the smoke and the flashes of fire, and he was wise
enough to save his own ammunition--he had long since learned the border
maxim, never to shoot until you saw something to shoot at.

But the enemy was creeping closer, hiding among rocks and bushes, and a
second and longer spatter of rifle fire began. One man was hit badly, and
then the borderers began to seek targets of their own. Their long,
slender-barreled rifles flashed again and again, and more than one bullet
went straight to the mark. The plumes of white smoke grew more numerous,
united sometimes, and floated away in little clouds among the trees.

Paul saw that his comrades were firing slowly, but with terrible effect,
as five or six still, brown figures now lay in the open. Shif'less Sol, at
the next tree, only four feet away, was stretched almost perfectly flat on
his face on the ground, and every movement he made seemed to be slow and
deliberate. Yet no one was firing faster or with surer aim than he, and
faint gleams of satisfaction showed now and then in his eyes. Paul could
not restrain speech.

"It seems to me, Sol, that you are not tired as you said you were," he
said.

"Perhaps not," replied Sol slowly, "but I will be."

The savages suddenly began to shout, and kept up a ferocious yelling, as
if they would confuse and terrify their opponents. The woods echoed with
the din, the long-drawn, whining cry, like that of a wolf, and despite
all the efforts of a strong will, Paul shuddered as he had not shuddered
at the sound of the rifle fire.

"'Tain't no singin' school," said Shif'less Sol, in a clear voice that
Paul could hear above t