Holding the barrel with his left hand, and cocking the pistol with his right, he points it at Gen. Canby’s head, touches the trigger, and explodes the cap, but does not the powder. Quickly he revolves the cylinder, and again presents it to the petrified general, who stands unmoved. Why, oh, why does he not close on the monster, and wrench the weapon from him? Quick, general, quick! He is too late. Another instant, and a shot is passing through his head. He does not fall, but turns and flees. Jack and “Ellen’s Man” pursue him until he falls on the rocks. They close on him. Captain Jack holds him by the shoulder, while the other cuts him across the neck. In the fall his chin struck on the rocks and shattered his lower jaw. The monsters strip him of every article of clothing, while he is struggling in the agonies of death. Barncho comes up now, and “Ellen’s Man” snatches a rifle from his hands, and, pointing at the general, discharges it, and another ball passes entirely through his head. They turn him on his face, and leave him in the last agony of a horrible death, while, with his uniform on their arms, they go back to the council tent.
Look towards the soldiers’ camp. Two men are running. The foremost one is Dyer, and following him is Hooker Jim, who fires repeatedly at Dyer, who turns, and pointing his pistol, Jim drops to avoid the shot. Dyer resumes his run for life, and the other follows until Dyer has widened the space between
them so much that Hooker Jim, fleet as he is, abandons the chase, and returns to join the other murderers.
Over towards the lake two other men are running. The foremost one is Frank Riddle. The pursuer is Black Jim, who fires rapidly at Riddle; in fact, he is not trying to hit him, because he knows that Scar-face Charley is watching, and if Riddle falls by a shot from Black Jim, Black Jim himself will fall by Scar-face Charley’s rifle.
Black Jim.
Simultaneously with Jack’s first attack on General Canby, Boston Charley’s first shot struck Dr. Thomas in the left breast, above the heart. The doctor drops partly down, and catches with his right hand, and with the other uplifted towards his assassin, begs him to shoot no more, as he has already received a death-wound. Bogus joins Boston. They permit the doctor to get upon his feet, and start to run, when they trip him and he falls again. They taunt him with his religion, saying, “Why don’t you turn the bullets? Your medicine is not strong.” The doctor rises again and walks a few steps, when they push him down, still ridiculing him. Again he pleads for them to spare his life. They laugh in his face and say, “Next time you believe a squaw, won’t you?” Once more—and it is the last time that he will ever walk in that bruised and mangled body—the doctor rises to his feet, and, going a few steps, pleading with his inhuman tormentors for mercy, and with his Maker for mercy on them, he falls to rise no more. Slolux joins them, and Bogus, placing the muzzle of a gun towards the doctor’s head, sends another bullet crashing through it. The red devils now strip him of his
clothing, jesting and mocking his words of prayer, and finally turn him face downwards, while through the blood from the wounds on his lips he cries, “Come, Lord—” and the prayer is smothered forever.
When the signal for the attack was given, Schonchin was in position, and, springing to his feet, he draws a revolver from his left side, and, with his other hand, unsheathes a knife. He is so near his victim that he dare not trust to a pistol alone. He is very much excited, and is not so quick as the others in cocking his pistol.
Meacham draws his Derringer, and pushing the muzzle squarely against the heart of Schonchin, pulls the trigger, but, alas! it does not fire. Why? Oh! why? He tries again, and still the hammer does not fall. He now discovers that it is but half-cocked. Too late! too late! Schonchin thrusts his pistol forward, almost touching Meacham’s face. The latter jumps back and stoops, while the ball from Schonchin’s pistol tears through the collar of his coat, vest, and shirt on the left shoulder, so close that the powder burns his whiskers and the bullet bruises him. He runs backwards with the pistol now ready for use, but with Schonchin pursuing him and firing as fast as he can until his pistol is empty. Now he drops it on the ground, and, drawing another from his right side, he continues the attack, but dare not close on the Derringer still in the hands of Meacham. Why does not the pursued man fire? He is a good shot. Why don’t he drop the old scoundrel? He was very much frightened when the attack began, but, like a soldier in battle, he has passed that, and is terribly cool now. He dare not risk his only shot, for fear of missing