Perhaps that Indian thought a thunderbolt had seized hold of him, that is, if he took time to think at all, which is rather questionable, and in truth he would not have been far from the truth. The way in which Bolly shook him by means of the hold upon his throat would have reminded one of a terrier and a rat. So violent was the motion that the unlucky fellow's head was in danger of coming off, and when Bolly in the end dashed his clenched fist full in the red face, it ended the matter, for when he released his clasp the man dropped to the ground perfectly insensible. To stoop over the fallen brave and transfer the fellow's weapon to his own person, was, for the ranger, but the work of a moment. Quite a fine-looking rifle, of a modern pattern, a long, ugly-looking knife, a revolver and some ammunition were thus appropriated without compunction, for Bolly believed in the adage that "to the victor belong the spoils." Besides, had not this man or his friends made themselves owners of his articles of warfare without saying so much as "by your leave." There were very few men left in the village; for one to remain idle when such deadly work was in progress at two separate points would have been a decided disgrace. A dozen cavalrymen dashing in at the northern and western end of the village could have carried everything before them. Not forty yards away from the prison lodge, some ten or twelve warriors were clustered, being wounded braves unable to take part in the great battle. So interested were these worthies in what was passing before their eyes (for, standing on a little elevation, they could see the fight with Reno now drawing to an end, and the gallop to death of brave Custer and his men), that the little episode in their rear did not serve to attract their attention. It was only when the ranger arose to his feet, after arming himself by means of the late guard's weapons, that one of the wounded braves happened to catch sight of him, and, giving the alarm to his companions, the whole of them started forward with a yell. If they were to be deprived of a share in both of the fierce battles, why could they not get up a little affair of their own, a private entertainment, so to speak, whereby each individual participant on their side might share the excitement. Unfortunately for them Bolly Wherrit proved too willing, and then again he wanted all the fun on his side of the house. "Now fur sumpin rich. Calculate I kin wipe out them reds like a chalk mark. Old bruiser in front thar, take keer o' yerself." The rifle proved to be a good one in the right hands, for as the report sounded, one of the approaching braves sprang wildly forward with a convulsive drawing up of the legs, and was met half way by death. Then the revolver commenced its fearful work. As man after man lay down never to rise again, Bolly burst out into a wild, reckless laugh.