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.

He knew that his enemies were but two; in his eccentric course through
the forest he had passed directly over their trail, and he had read the
signs with an infallible eye. Now one was dead and the other like
himself had an unloaded gun. The rest of his deed would be a mere matter
of detail.

The second savage uttered his war cry and sprang forward from the
bushes. He might well have recoiled at the terrible figure that rushed
to meet him; in all his wild life of risks he had never before been
confronted by anything so instinct with terror, so ominous of death. But
he did not have time to take thought before he was overwhelmed by his
resistless enemy.

It was an affair of but a few moments. The Indian threw his tomahawk but
Henry parried the blade upon the barrel of his rifle which he still
carried in his left hand, and his own tomahawk was whirled in a
glittering curve about his head. Now it was launched with mighty force
and the savage, cloven to the chin, sank soundless to the earth; he had
been smitten down by a force so sudden and absolute that he died
instantly.

The victor, elate though he was, paused, and quickly reloaded his
rifle--wilderness caution would allow nothing else--and afterwards
advancing looked first at the savage whom he had slain in the open and
then at the other in the bushes. There was no pity in him, his only
emotion was a great sense of power; they had hunted him, two to one, and
they born in the woods, but he had outwitted and slain them both. He
could have escaped, he could have easily left them far behind when he
first discovered that they were stalking him, but he had felt that they
should be punished and now the event justified his faith