With George Washington into the Wilderness by Edwin L. Sabin

It seemed to Robert, while he lay panting and kicking and trying to wake, that a battle had been raging over him. He knew that he was wet with cold water, and that fingers were busy upon his head; and at last he looked into a face black-whiskered, black-eyed, a face very dark and stern, but ready to smile: the face, yes, of the Black Rifle!

Robert struggled to sit up in a jiffy. The Black Rifle was a fearsome man――an Indian-killer. And around-about there were other white-men, in buckskin and long hair, powder flasks and bullet pouches, hatchets and knives――several of them with fresh scalps at their belts.