The whistling of this threatening weapon was unheeded, since it did not hurt him.

He glared in fury at the Indian, but always his arm remained half raised, his foot, but shifted, side stepping and turning only enough to keep him with front toward his antagonist.

The desperate, eager waiting of his attitude was awful.

The whisper of the wings of death was on the air about this place.

The faces of the white men witnessing the spectacle were drawn and haggard.