Part 14 (1/2)

And spurred by her new terror she hurried across the brief intervening s.p.a.ce to where her mother and Miss Altman were sitting trembling, and occasionally whispering in the darkness.

Thank heaven! no harm had befallen them, and since there was no call for her to return to George Ashbridge and Weber Hastings, she remained with those that were so near and dear to her.

”Them varmints are gettin' pow'rful sa.s.sy,” was the comment of Hastings, who, now that the truth was known, seemed to lose all the excitement he had first shown. ”You don't think the gal was mistook?”

”I am sure she was not.”

”So am I; stay right here where you be, while I look around for that varmint; keep a lookout yourself, for he may try to sneak out this way.”

”All I want is a chance at him.”

”That's right--h.e.l.loa!”

It so happened that Jim Deane, fully recovered from the effects of the rattlesnake antidote he had taken earlier in the evening, was on guard at a point almost opposite where Agnes Altman had made her alarming discovery. Instead of being sheltered by boulders and rocks, he had lain down behind some branches and logs, which he himself had helped place in position weeks before, when he and his companions were caught in their desperate straits.

Stretched at full length upon his face, with one hand grasping the barrel of his rifle in front and hearing nothing, he felt something softly touch his foot. The ranger did not speak or move a limb, but with rare cleverness, suspected the astonis.h.i.+ng truth; one of the Shawanoe had entered the fort and was making a tour of inspection. The miscreant would offer harm to no one until he had gathered the knowledge he sought. Then he doubtless meant to deal some swift, terrible blows with his knife, and make off before anything could be done in the way of punishment.

The ranger turned his head and peered over his shoulder behind him.

Lying flat on the ground, while the one that had touched him was on his feet, the advantage was with the white man. The almost impalpable outlines of a crouching figure that had paused upon touching his foot was revealed, and all doubt vanished from the mind of Deane.

His posture, as will be perceived, was an awkward one compared with that of the Shawanoe. It was necessary for the white man to change it before he could a.s.sume the offensive, and during the making of that change was the time for the hostile to get in his effective work.

The possibility of his doing so caused no hesitation on the part of Jim Deane. He flirted himself upon his back, snapped his feet beneath his body, and came to a standing position in a twinkling. In the act of doing so, he c.o.c.ked his rifle.

The click of the hammer warned the intruder of his danger. His situation was not one in which to make a fight, and he turned to flee. The white man heard him, and dashed through the gloom to gain sufficient sight to warrant a shot. The fugitive must have been as familiar with the ground as was his pursuer, for he showed no hesitation as to his course, nor did he give any evidence of blundering.

He was so near the side of the inclosure that he had to run but a few steps when he made a leap which lifted him several feet above the obstruction, and it was this temporary elevation which gave the ranger the chance he was seeking. At the moment the figure was at the highest point of the arch, with his feet gathered beneath him, the ranger brought his gun to his shoulder and let fly.

A flash, a resounding report, a rasping shriek that resounded through the woods, and the Shawanoe sprawled forward on his face, with his hands clutching the leaves and dirt, and then all was still.

”That 'ere varmint ought to have knowed that 'cause a man happens to git bit by a rattler and takes an over-dose of antidote, it ain't no reason for stubbin' your toe agin him, and thinkin' he's forgot how to shoot off a gun.”

”You managed that purty well, Jim,” quietly remarked Weber Hastings, appearing that moment at his elbow. ”Glad to see you don't forget to reload as quick as you kin.”

”I larned that long ago; wonder if there are any more of the varmints 'bout.”

”If there is, they'll be a little more keerful, but there's no saying what'll be the next thing--s.h.!.+”

Through the arches of the forest stole the soft, tremulous notes of a night bird--so faintly heard that even the trained ears of the ranger could do no more than guess the distance.

”That's Kenton,” he remarked, in a guarded voice; ”I'm powerful glad of it, for now something will be done.”

CHAPTER XV.

A DARK PROSPECT.

Weber Hastings waited only a few seconds after hearing the soft, tremulous bird call that stole among the leafy arches, when he replied with an imitation so exact that it might well have been mistaken for an echo of the first.

Nothing more was done, for that was sufficient. Groping around among the ”hornets' nests,” as Kenton declared it to be, eluding the Shawanoes, who seemed to be everywhere, the pioneer found it impossible to locate his friends, until, as a last resort, he had recourse to the signal, which he knew would be recognized by Hastings, provided it could be projected to him.