They had gone some fifty yards, when from among the bracken on their right a voice cried: "Bang-g-g! Bang-g-g!" The Twins fell to the earth and lay still; and Wiggins came out of the gorse, his wooden rifle on his shoulder, a smile of proud triumph on his richly freckled face.

He stood over the fallen Twins; and his smile of triumph changed to a scowl of fiendish ferocity.
"Ha! Ha! Shot through the heads!" he cried.

"Their bones will bleach in the pathless forest while their scalps hang in the wigwam of Red Bear the terror of the Cherokees!" Then he scalped the Twins with a formidable but wooden knife.

Then he took from his knickerbockers pocket a tattered and dirty note-book, an inconceivable note-book (it was the only thing to curb the exuberant imagination of Erebus) made an entry in it, and said in a tone of lively satisfaction: "You're only one game ahead." "I thought we were three," said Erebus, rising.
"They're down in the book," said Wiggins; firmly; and his bright blue eyes were very stern.
"Well, we shall have to spend a whole afternoon getting well ahead of you again," said Erebus, shaking out her dark curls.
Wiggins waged a deadly war with the Twins.

He ambushed and scalped them; they ambushed and scalped him.