Edwards was lying on his back, with a bloody hand pressed to his side.
"Dave, Dave, how is it with you ?" asked Heckewelder, in a voice low with fear.
"Not bad.

It's too far out to be bad, but it knocked me over," answered Edwards, weakly.

"Give me--water." They carried him from the platform, and laid him on the grass under a tree.
Young pressed Edwards' hand; he murmured something that sounded like a prayer, and then walked straight upon the platform, as he raised his face, which was sublime with a white light.
"Paleface! Back!" roared Half King, as he waved his war-club.
"You Indian dog! Be silent!" Young's clear voice rolled out on the quiet air so imperiously, so powerful in its wonderful scorn and passion, that the hostile savages were overcome by awe, and the Christians thrilled anew with reverential love.
Young spoke again in a voice which had lost its passion, and was singularly sweet in its richness.
"Beloved Christians, if it is God's will that we must die to prove our faith, then as we have taught you how to live, so we can show you how to die---" "Spang!" Again a whistling sound came with the bellow of an overcharged rifle; again the sickening thud of a bullet striking flesh.
Young fell backwards from the platform.
The missionaries laid him beside Edwards, and then stood in shuddering silence.

A smile shone on Young's pale face; a stream of dark blood welled from his breast.

His lips moved; he whispered: "I ask no more--God's will." Jim looked down once at his brother missionaries; then with blanched face, but resolute and stern, he marched toward the platform.
Heckewelder ran after him, and dragged him back.
"No! no! no! My God! Would you be killed?
Oh! I tried to prevent this!" cried Heckewelder, wringing his hands.
One long, fierce, exultant yell pealed throughout the grove.