His sensitive and imaginative
mind became greatly excited. The flashes of flame in the thickets were
multiplied a hundred fold, a thousand little pulses beat heavily in
his temples, and the shouts of the savages seemed to fill the forest.
But he pressed on, conscious that the enemy was disappearing before
them.
In his eagerness he passed ahead of Willet and Tayoga and came very
near to St. Luc's retreating line. His foot became entangled in
trailing vines and he fell, but he was up in an instant, and he fired
at a shadowy figure not more than twenty feet in advance. In his haste
he missed, and the figure, turning, raised a rifle. There was a fair
moonlight and Robert saw the muzzle of the weapon bearing directly
upon him, and he knew too that the rifle was held by firm hands. His
vivid and sensitive imagination at once leaped into intense life. His
own weapon was empty and his last moment had come. He saw the strong
brown hands holding the rifle, and then his gaze passed on to the face
of St. Luc. He saw the blue eyes of the Frenchman, as they looked down
the sights, open wide in a kind of horror. Then he abruptly dropped
the muzzle, waved one hand to Robert, and vanished in the thickets and
the darkness.
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