The foremost of the approaching savages fell, shot through the heart by
the rifle of young Niniotan, and almost at the same instant the one by
his side had the ball of Oonomoo's rifle sent crashing through his
brain. The Huron now sprung to the side of his wife, and drawing his
knife in his left, and his tomahawk in his right hand, he stood at bay!
It was a scene worthy the inspired pencil of the artist. The
malignant, scowling Shawnees, steadily advancing upon the dauntless
Huron, who, though his moccasins were soaked with the blood from his
own wounds, stood as firm and immovable as the adamantine rock. His
left leg was thrown somewhat in advance of his right, as if he were
about to spring, but in such a manner that his weight was perfectly
balanced. The knife was held firmly, but not as it would have been
were he about to strike. The tomahawk, however, was drawn back, as if
he were only holding it a second, while he selected his victim. His
eyes! no imagination can conceive their fierce electric glitter as
their burning gaze was fixed upon his merciless enemies. Black as
midnight, they seemed to emit palpable rays, that shot through the air
with an irresistibly penetrating power, and not once was their awful
power eclipsed for an instant by the closing of the eyelid.
Onward came the exultant Shawnees. There was no checking them, and
throwing all his mighty strength in his right arm, Oonomoo hurled his
tomahawk like a thunderbolt among them.
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