I seemed to see it all through a red fog whence the blood dripped, and I lost consciousness of everything save my unswerving duty to strike hard until I fell.

At last out from the maelstrom of that wild melee but a single warrior seemed to face me; and some instinct of the fight caused me to draw back a pace and wipe the obscuring blood away, that I might see him better.

It came to me that this was to be the end,--the final duel which was to decide that midnight battle.

He and I were there alone; and the stars bursting through the clouds gave me faint view of him, and of those dark, silent forms that lined the shore where they had fallen.
A chief, a Pottawattomie,--this much I knew even in that hasty shrouded glance.

Writers of history affirm my opponent was Peesotum, the same fierce warrior whose cruel hand slew the brave Captain Wells and wrenched his still beating heart from out the mutilated body.