end of the coppice he gathered himself together and rose slowly to a
crouching position. Another rain of shots came from the nook; the man's
rifle would be empty, he must give him no chance to reload. Now it would
be a fair fight with the bayonet.

He threw aside the white draperies that impeded his legs and in half a
dozen bounds the two men were face to face.

No shot had been fired. Yes, the magazine of the man's rifle was empty.
He heard the crunch of his enemy's feet on the snow. He rose to his
feet, his bayoneted rifle extended. The two barrels struck with terrific
force. The men swayed, drew back for another thrust, and they were
suddenly aware of a mist-like figure between them, a figure draped in
white, lightly, diaphanously.

They stood arrested, guns drawn back, and stared. The figure slowly
extended its arm, carrying drapery with it. A man's breast was bared.
There, over the heart, was a great gaping wound, fresh, as if a broad,
heavy blade had pierced it.

There was a clatter on the ice as a gun dropped and another clatter as a
similar weapon struck the stone opposite. The two men bent forward,
their hands outstretched. They took a step as if to touch the figure and
there was nothing there! The hands met. They clasped warmly in the cold
against each other.

"My God, what was that?" said the stalker.

"I don't know," answered the other.