If you can hit one, you can another.

But go ahead, Lew.

Plug that cowardly redskin!" Wetzel knelt on one knee, and thrust the black rifle forward through the fern leaves.

Slowly the fatal barrel rose to a level, and became as motionless as the immovable stones.
Jonathan fixed his keen gaze on the haughty countenance of Half King as he stood with folded arms and scornful mien in front of the Christians he had just condemned.
Even as the short, stinging crack of Wetzel's rifle broke the silence, Jonathan saw the fierce expression of Half King's dark face change to one of vacant wildness.

His arms never relaxed from their folded position.