"Do you see any thing?" whispered Valletort to his friend,
who stood next him: "look--look!" and he pointed with
his finger.

"Nothing," returned De Haldimar, after an anxious gaze
of a minute, "but that dilapidated old bomb-proof."

"See you not something dark, and slightly moving immediately
in a line with the left angle of the bomb-proof?"

De Haldimar looked again.--"I do begin to fancy I see
something," he replied; "but so confusedly and indistinctly,
that I know not whether it be not merely an illusion of
my imagination. Perhaps it is a stray Indian dog devouring
the carcass of the wolf you shot yesterday."

"Be it dog or devil, here is for a trial of his
vulnerability.--Sambo, quick, my rifle."

The young negro handed to his master one of those long
heavy rifles, which the Indians usually make choice of
for killing the buffalo, elk, and other animals whose
wildness renders them difficult of approach. He then,
unbidden, and as if tutored to the task, placed himself
in a stiff upright position in front of his master, with
every nerve and muscle braced to the most inflexible
steadiness. The young officer next threw the rifle on
the right shoulder of the boy for a rest, and prepared
to take his aim on the object that had first attracted
his attention.