Most of his men were sharpshooters and he felt that they would be a match for those whom the guerrilla led.
Sergeant Whitley kept by his side, and out of a vast experience in border warfare advised him.
Dick, Warner and Pennington armed themselves with rifles of the fallen, and they felt fierce thrills of joy as they crept forward.

Burning with the battle fever, and enraged against this man Slade, Dick put all his soul in the man-hunt.

He merely hoped that Victor Woodville was not there.

He would fire willingly at any of the rest.
Before they had gone far Slade and his riflemen began to fire.

Bullets pattered all about them, clipping twigs and leaves and striking sparks from stones.
Had the fire been unexpected it would have done deadly damage, but all of the Winchesters, as they liked to call themselves, had kept under cover, and were advancing Indian fashion.