For a time silence and immutability possessed the woods; the great
trunks loomed upwards, their fallen brothers stretched their slow length
into obscurity. The sound of breathing again became audible; the shape
reappeared in the aisle, and recommenced its mystic dance. Presently
it was lost in the shadow of the largest tree, and to the sound of
breathing succeeded a grating and scratching of bark. Suddenly, as if
riven by lightning, a flash broke from the center of the tree-trunk,
lit up the woods, and a sharp report rang through it. After a pause
the jingling of spurs and the dancing of torches were revived from the
distance.

"Hallo?"

No answer.

"Who fired that shot?"

But there was no reply. A slight veil of smoke passed away to the right,
there was the spice of gunpowder in the air, but nothing more.

The torches came forward again, but this time it could be seen they were
held in the hands of two men and a woman. The woman's hands were tied
at the wrist to the horse-hair reins of her mule, while a riata, passed
around her waist and under the mule's girth, was held by one of the men,
who were both armed with rifles and revolvers. Their frightened horses
curveted, and it was with difficulty they could be made to advance.

"Ho! stranger, what are you shooting at?"