"Better load up, boys, for we 're not through yet--they 'll only be more careful next time.
Anybody hurt ?" "Somethin' creased my back," replied Moylan, complainingly, and trying vainly to put a hand on the spot.

"Felt like a streak o' fire." The Sergeant reached across, fingering the torn shirt curiously.
"Seared the flesh, pardner, but no blood worth mentioning.

They 've got some heavy artillery out there from the sound--old army muskets likely.

It is our repeating rifles that will win out--those red devils don't understand them yet." "Senor, you tink we win out den ?" and Gonzales peered up blinking into the other's face.

"Sacre! dey vil fight deeferent de nex' time.