One of our men has been killed, but we have made it impossible for the
enemy to advance there."
"Thank you, Mr. Lennox," said the young captain with dignity. "We have
also had some success here, due chiefly to the good advice of
Mr. Willet, and the prowess and sharpshooting of the extraordinary man
whom you call Black Rifle. See him now!"
He indicated a dark figure a little distance ahead, behind a clump of
bushes, and, as Robert looked, a jet of fire leaped from the muzzle of
the man's rifle, followed almost immediately by a cry in the forest.
"I think he has slain more of our enemies than the rest of us
combined," said Captain Colden.
Robert shuddered a little, but those who lived on the border became
used to strange things. The constant struggle for existence hardened
the nerves, and terrible scenes did not dwell long in the mind. He
bent forward for a better look, and a bullet cut the hair upon his
forehead. He started back, feeling as if he had been seared by
lightning and Willet looked at him anxiously.
"The lead burned as it passed," the lad said, "but the skin is not
broken. I was guilty of the same rashness, for which I have been
lecturing the men on the flank.
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