A deluge of blood poured out upon the moss.

Deering choked, a bloody froth formed on his lips.

His fingers clutched at nothing.

His eyes rolled violently and then were fixed in an awful stare.
The girl lying so quiet in the woods near the old hut was avenged! Jonathan turned again to Wetzel and Girty, not with any intention to aid the hunter, but simply to witness the end of the struggle.
Without the help of the powerful Deering, how pitifully weak was the Deathshead of the frontier in the hands of the Avenger! Jim Girty's tomahawk was thrown in one direction and his knife in another.

He struggled vainly in the iron grip that held him.
Wetzel rose to his feet clutching the renegade.