gainst his dark skin. The skin was not so
dark as was that of the other recumbent figures, and the face, flung
back and pillowed on the arm, was not the face of an Indian. It was Luiz
Sebastian. He lay somewhat nearer to the shed than did the Ricahecrians,
and directly in front of the doorway; as Landless paused above him, he
turned and laughed in his sleep.

Slowly and cautiously Landless swung himself down from the ledge, his
moccasined feet touching ground that was clear of pebbles and beyond the
line of twigs. He glanced back to see the gigantic figure of the
Susquehannock, standing upright against the rock, knife in hand, and
watchful eyes roving from one to the other of the sleeping warriors,
then stepped lightly across the body of the mulatto, and entered the
hut.

Within it the darkness was gross. Pausing a moment to accustom his eyes
to the blackness, there came to him from without the hoot of an owl. It
was the signal agreed upon between him and his companion, and he wheeled
to face the danger it announced.

The lithe, yellow figure that had lain in front of the doorway had
waked. As Landless gazed, it rose to its knees, then with a quick,
cat-like grace to its feet, stretched itself, cast a listening look
around the sleeping circle, and laid its gun softly down, then with a
noiseless step and a smile upon its evil face, it too entered the hut.

Landless waited until the mulatto was well across the threshold, and
then sprang upon him, dragging him to the ground, where he held him with
his knee against his chest. He writhed and struggled, but the white man
was the stronger, and held him down; he tried to cry out, but the
other's hands were at his throat choking the life from him. Putting all
his strength into one hand, Landless felt with the other for his knife.
The movement brought his face forward into the shaft of moonlight that
trembled through the opening. "You!" said the eyes of the mulatto, and
his clutching hands tore at the hand about his throat. The hand pressed
closer, and with the other Landless struck the knife into the yellow
bosom. When the writhing form was quite still, he rose from his knees,
and looked down upon the evil face flung back to meet the moonlight. The
struggle had lasted but a minute, and had been without sound--not a
sleeping savage had stirred. But he now heard frightened breathing
within the hut. By this time his eyes were accustomed to the darkness,
and he made out somethin