Both
Shif'less Sol and Heemskerk had caught sight of figures slipping
away among the trees, and Henry craftily drew back a little.
While two or three men maintained the sharpshooting in the front,
he waited for the attack. It came in half an hour, the flanking
force making a savage and open rush, but the fire of the white
riflemen was so swift and deadly that they were driven back
again. But they had come very near, and a Tory rushed directly
at young Taylor. The Tory, like Taylor, had come from Wyoming,
and he had been one of the most ruthless on that terrible day.
When they were less than a dozen feet apart they recognized each
other. Henry saw the look that passed between them, and,
although he held a loaded rifle in his hand, for some reason he
did not use it. The Tory fired a pistol at Taylor, but the
bullet missed, and the Wyoming youth, leaping forth, swung his
unloaded rifle and brought the stock down with all his force upon
the head of his enemy. The man, uttering a single sound, a sort
of gasp, fell dead, and Taylor stood over him, still trembling
with rage. In an instant Henry seized him and dragged him down,
and then a Seneca bullet whistled where he had been.
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