He
stopped behind a large tree, and sheltering himself riveted his eyes on
a spot in the forest about fifty yards away. No one else could have
found there anything suspicious, anything to tell of an alien presence,
but he no longer doubted.
At the detected point a leaf moved, but not in the way it should have
swayed before the gentle wind, and there was a passing spot of brown in
the green of the bushes. It was visible only for a moment, but it was
sufficient for the attuned mind and body of Henry Ware. Every part of
him responded to the call. The rifle sprang to his shoulder and before
the passing spot of brown was gone, a stream of fire spurted from its
slender muzzle, and its sharp cracking report like the lashing of a whip
was blended with the long-drawn howl, so terrible in its note, that is
the death cry of a savage.
The bullet had scarcely left his gun before he fell back almost flat,
and the answering shot sped over his head. It was for this that he sank
down, and before the second shot died he sprang to his feet and rushed
forward, drawing his tomahawk and uttering a shout that rolled away in
fierce echoes through the forest.
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