They pressed on into the forest, again and again meeting desperate little bands of red men, who rushed them only to be felled by a hail of lead balls. Raoul heard the constant banging of many rifles going off in other parts of the forest. And sometimes he heard the high screams of women and children. After the screams, silence. Raoul smiled to himself. This was how he wanted it. No prisoners. Killing no longer seemed dangerous. It no longer felt like sport. It became simply work through the day's heat. It was tiring work, but good. With some surprise Raoul realized that the line of troops had swept most of the island and were now approaching the north end. He could see Indians up ahead through the trees. This might well be the last of them. Eagerly, rifle ready, he rushed forward. He burst into a clearing and found himself facing a half circle of nearly a dozen bucks, their shaved scalps and bare chests gleaming with sweat. Behind them cowered a pack of squaws and children. The warriors shouted at Raoul and his men and beckoned to them. Right in the center was one man much taller than the rest, with the red and white feathers of a brave tied into his scalplock. Whatever insults or challenges he was uttering, he looked Raoul right in the eye and shouted directly at him. Raoul felt a chill of fear. The Indian's flesh was wasted, but his skeleton was huge. He looked like he'd be as hard to stop as a tornado. And he was holding a rifle in arms and hands so big that they made it look small. The other warriors didn't have rifles or even bows. They must have run out of powder and shot and arrows. They held clubs and knives and tomahawks. _They want us to fight hand to hand. That's what Indians do to show their courage._ _The hell with that._ With a movement that seemed almost contemptuous, the big Indian dropped the rifle to the ground. He reached down and picked up a war club painted red and black, with a huge spike at its end. "Let's pay 'em back, boys!" Raoul shouted. "For all of our people they killed." "Oui! For Marchette," said Armand, raising his rifle. His first shot caught a warrior in the chest and knocked him down. At that the Indians rushed Raoul and his men. Raoul felt himself trembling uncontrollably as the bony giant in the center came straight at him. The big Indian held his war club in front of him, as if to deflect bullets. Forcing his arms to hold steady, Raoul aimed his rifle at the Indian's head and fired. And missed. _I should have aimed at his chest._ Raoul cursed his shaking hand as he dropped his rifle and pulled his pistol. The brown giant gave a long, full-throated war cry. Raoul pulled the trigger. He saw a spark, heard the bang of the percussion cap, but there was nothing more. He cried out in a fury. His sweat must have dampened the powder.