long watching its flight. Something moved ahead of me, but 'twas only a
squirrel.

Then came a mocking laugh behind me. I turned sharply, but saw nothing.
Far up in the branches there sounded the slow flap of an owl's flight.
Many noises succeeded, and suddenly came one which froze my blood--the
harsh scream of a hawk. My enemy was playing with me, and calling the
wild things to mock me.

I went on a little, and then turned up the hill to where a clump of
pines made a darker patch in the woodland. All was quiet again, and my
eyes searched the dusk for the sign of human life. Then suddenly I saw
something which stiffened me against a trunk.

Forty paces off in the dusk a face was looking from behind a tree. It
was to the west of me, and was looking downhill towards a patch of
undergrowth. I noted the long feather, the black forelock, the red skin
of the forehead.

At the sight for the first time the zest of the pursuit filled me, and
I forgot my pain. Had I outwitted my wily foe, and by some miracle
stolen a march on him? I dared not believe it; but yet, as I rubbed my
eyes, I could not doubt it. I had got my chance, and had taken him
unawares. The face still peered intently downhill. I lifted a pistol,
took careful aim, and fired at the patch of red skin.

A thousand echoes rang through the wood. The bullet had grazed the tree
trunk, and the face was gone. But whither? Did a dead man lie behind
the trunk, or had a wounded man crawled into cover?