Up to this time
the killing of a white man was not counted the
deed of a warrior; it was murder.
The lesser braves might now satisfy their
spite against the traders to their hearts' con-
tent, but Tawasuota had been upon the best of
terms with all of them.
Suddenly a ringing shout was heard. The
chief soldier looked up, and beheld a white man,
nearly nude, leap from the roof of the larger
store and alight upon the ground hard by
him.
He had emptied one barrel of his gun, and,
if he chose to do so, could have killed Myrick
then and there; but he made no move, exclaim-
ing:
"Ho, ho! Nina iyaye!" ("Run, run!")
Away sped the white man in the direction of
the woods and the river.
"Ah, he is swift; he will save himself,"
thought Tawasuota.
All the Indians had now spied the fugitive;
they yelled and fired at him again and again,
as if they were shooting at a running deer; but
he only ran faster. Just as he had reached the
very edge of the sheltering timber a single shot
rang out, and he fell headlong.
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