es, the
Indians could never have accomplished so much on the border. He raised
his rifle a little and now he cocked it. Shif'less Sol glanced up and
saw the red fire in his eye.

"What is it, Henry?" he asked.

"The renegade Quarles is in the boat on the right. As we have to run a
gauntlet here, and there will be some shooting, I mean that one of the
renegades shall never trouble us any more."

"I'm sorry it's not Girty or Wyatt," said the shiftless one, "but since
it ain't either o' them it might ez well be Quarles. He might be missed,
but he wouldn't be mourned."

The boat, with Tom Ross steering, kept straight ahead with undiminished
speed, the wind filling out the sail. The Indians in the two boats
before them fired again, but the bullets as before thudded upon the
wooden sides.

But Henry, crouching now with his cocked rifle, saw his opportunity.
Quarles, raising himself up in the canoe, had fired and he was just
taking his rifle from his shoulder. Henry fired directly at the tanned
forehead of this wicked man, who had so often shed the blood of his own
people, and the bullet crashed through the brain. The renegade half
rose, and then fell from the boat into the stream, which hid his body
forever. A cry of rage and fear came from the Indians and the next
moment four other marksmen, two from the right and two from the left,
fired into the opposing canoes. The schoolmaster also fired, although he
was not sure that he hit any foe; but it was a terrible volley
nevertheless. The two Indian boats contained both dead and wounded.
Paddles were dropped into the water and floated out of reach. Moreover,
Tom Ross, when his cunning eye saw the confusion, steered his own boat
in such a manner that it struck the canoe on the right a glancing blow,
sidewiping it, as it were.

Tom and his comrades were staggered by the impact, but their boat,
uninjured, quickly righted itself and went on. The Indian canoe was
smashed in and sank, leaving its living occupants struggling in the
water, while the other canoe was compelled to turn and pick them up.

"Well done, Mr. Ross!" called Mr. Pennypacker. "That was a happy
thought. You struck them as the old Roman galleys with their beaks
struck their antagonists, and you have swept them from our path."

"That's true, Mr. Pennypacker," said Shif'less Sol, "but don't you go to
stickin' your head up too much. Thar, didn't I tell you! Ef many more
bullets like that come, you'd git a nice