forward, but again the stern command of the young captain prompted by
the hunter, held them down.

"'Twas intended merely to draw us," said Willet. "They're sure we're
in this wood, but of course they don't know the exact location of our
men. They're hoping for a glimpse of the bright uniforms, but, if the
men keep very low, they won't get it."

It was a tremendous trial for young and raw troops, but they managed
to still their nerves, and to remain crouched and motionless. A second
shot was fired soon, and then a third, but like the first they were
trial bullets and both went high. Black Rifle grew impatient. The
memory of his murdered family began to press upon him once more. The
night was black, but now it looked red to him. Lying almost flat, he
slowly pulled himself forward like a great wild beast, stalking its
prey. Colden looked at him, and then at Willet, who nodded.

"Don't try to stop him," whispered the hunter, "because he'll go
anyhow. Besides, it's time for us to reply to their shots."

The dark form, moving forward without noise, had a singular
fascination for Robert. His imagination, which colored and magnified
everything, made Black Rifle sinister and supernatural. The complete
absence of sound, as he advanced, heightened the effect. Not a leaf
nor a blade of grass rustled. Presently he stopped and Robert saw the
black muzzle of his rifle shoot forward. A stream of flame leaped
forth, and then the man quickly slid into a new position.

A fierce shout came from the opposing thicket, and a half dozen shots
were fired. Bullets again cut twigs and leaves over Robert's head, but