Slowly his legs straightened, his arms dropped, and from his side gushed a dark flood.

A shadow crept over his face, not dark nor white, but just a shadow.

His eyes lost their hate; they no longer saw the foe, they looked beyond with gloomy question, and then were fixed cold in death.

Silvertip died as he had lived--a chief.
Joe glared round for Girty.

He was gone, having slipped away during the fight.