life. Something glittering whistled where his head had been, and then
struck with a sound like a sigh against the trunk of a tree.

Robert sank from his knees, until he lay almost fiat, and brought his
rifle forward for instant use. But, for a minute or two, he would not
have been steady enough to aim at anything. His tongue was dry in his
mouth, and his hair lifted a little at his marvelous escape.

He looked for the shadow, his eyes searching every thicket; but he did
not find it, and now he believed that the one who had sped the blow had
gone, biding his time for a second chance. Another wait to make sure,
and hurrying to the hollow he awoke Tayoga and the hunter, who returned
at once with him to the place where the ambush had miscarried.

"Ah!" said the Onondaga, as they looked about. _"Osquesont_! Behold!"

The blade of an Indian tomahawk, _osquesont_, was buried deep in the
trunk of a tree, and Robert knew that the same deadly weapon had
whistled where his head had been but a second before. He shuddered. Had
it not been for his glimpse of the flitting shadow his head would have
been cloven to the chin. Tayoga, with a mighty wrench, pulled out the
tomahawk and examined it. It was somewhat heavier than the usual weapon
of the type and he pronounced it of French make.

"Did it come from Quebec, Tayoga?" asked Willet.

"Perhaps," replied the young warrior, "but I saw it yesterday."

"You did! Where?"