Our sharpshooting is much better than theirs, and in time we will push them down to the lake.

But look at Black Rifle! See how he craves the battle!" The swart ranger, lying almost flat on the ground, was creeping forward, inch by inch, and as Robert glanced at him he fired, a savage in the opposing force uttering his death yell.

The ranger uttered a shout of triumph, and, shifting his position, sought another shot, his dark body drawn among the leaves and grass like that of some fierce wild animal.
He fired a second time, repeated his triumphant shout and then his sliding body passed out of sight among the bushes.
Both Rogers and Willet soon joined Robert and Tayoga behind the logs where they had a good position from which to direct the battle, but Daganoweda on the right, with all of his Mohawks, was pushing forward steadily and would soon be able to pour a flanking fire into St.Luc's little army.

The forest resounded now with the sharp reports of the rifles and the shouts and yells of the combatants.

Bullets cut leaves and twigs, but the rangers and the Mohawks were advancing.
"Do you know how many men we have lost, Rogers ?" asked Willet.
"Three of the white men and four of the Mohawks have been slain, Dave, but we're winning a success, and it's not too high a price to pay in war.