Yelling at the top of his voice, the border king challenged the redskin to turn and fight him hand to hand. He emphasized the command by waving the tomahawk which he carried in his hand.
Evil Heart looked round as the king of the scouts came swiftly toward him, gaining at every stride; and when Buffalo Bill came near enough he saw that sheer terror was written plainly on the redskin’s face.
To a man deeply imbued with Indian superstitions, as Evil Heart undoubtedly was, it may have seemed that death itself was following on his trail—so unremitting and relentless had been the pursuit.
Whether this was the case or not, it was plain that Evil Heart, renowned for many years as a famous warrior, had at last lost his nerve.
He faced Buffalo Bill and flung his tomahawk at him when he was within about forty yards. But his arm was palsied with fright, and the weapon did not go within a yard of the intended mark.
Then the Shawnee gave up hope entirely. There was a deep chasm on one side of the trail and the cliff on the other.
Yelling defiance to his paleface foe, Evil Heart leaped over the precipice. He preferred suicide to death at the hands of Buffalo Bill.