nearer. But when its sound passed through the forest, Henry Ware's form
seemed to become a little more taut and he leaned a little further
forward. Beyond the slight bending motion he did not stir.

He still saw nothing and heard nothing, but that voice which was his sixth
sense was calling to him more loudly than ever, and he was ready to
respond.

In front of him, thirty yards away, lay a thicket or undergrowth, and he
watched it incessantly. It seemed to him now that he knew every bush and
briar and vine. Presently a briar moved, and then a bush, and then a
vine, but they moved against the wind, and the sharp eyes of the watcher
saw it. He sank a little lower and the muzzle of his rifle stole forward.
He made not the slightest sound, and good eyes, only a few yards away,
could not have separated his dark figure from that of the tree trunk.

The same briar and bush moved a third time, and, as before, against the
wind. It did not escape the notice of Henry Ware. Now he saw a sharp, red
nose appear, and then the shaggy head behind it.

The nose remained--projected and lifted in the air, a-sniff to catch the
fleeting scent of an enemy. Fancy could readily paint the ugly head of the
lank body behind it. But Henry Ware was not deceived for an instant. The
muzzle of the rifle that had been thrust forward, was raised now, and
taking swift aim, he fired.

A wild and terrible cry swelled through the forest. An Indian warrior
sprang to his feet, casting off his guise of a wolfskin, stood perfectly
still for a moment, and then fell headlong among the wet bushes. The cry
came back in many real echoes, the shouts of the warriors who knew now