The savage fell back and lay still among the cinders.

The next instant the deep, long-drawn sigh of a life departing came from behind, and Paul whirled about again, his heart full of sickening fear.
But it was Henry who stood erect.

He had wrenched the warrior's own tomahawk from him, and had slain him with it.

His face was flushed with a victorious glow, but he stood there only a moment.

Then he seized his own second and loaded rifle, and ran to the chimney.