His expiring yell was answered by others. The reds were not far away.
Frank McCarthy, missing Will, stationed guards, and ran back to look for
him. He found the lad hauling the dead warrior ashore, and seizing his
hand, cried out: "Well done, my boy; you've killed your first Indian,
and done it like a man!"

Will wanted to stop and bury the body, but being assured that it was
not only an uncustomary courtesy, but in this case quite impossible, he
hastened on. As they came up with the waiting group McCarthy called out:

"Pards, little Billy has killed his first redskin!"

The announcement was greeted with cheers, which grated on Will's ears,
for his heart was sick, and the cheers seemed strangely out of place.

Little time, however, was afforded for sentiment of any sort. Enraged
at the death of their scout, the Indians made a final charge, which was
repulsed, like the others, and after this Bill McCarthy took the lead,
with Frank at the rear, to prevent further straggling of the forces.

It was a haggard-faced band that came up to Fort Kearny with the dawn.
The wounded men were left at the post, while the others returned to the
wrecked bull-train under escort of a body of troops. They hoped to make
some salvage, but the cattle had either been driven away or had joined
one of the numerous herds of buffalo; the wagons and their freight had
been burned, and there was nothing to do but bury the three pickets,
whose scalped and mutilated bodies were stretched where they had fallen.

Then the troops and trainmen parted company, the former to undertake
a bootless quest for the red marauders, the latter to return to