As
he did so he saw a bush move; then a shadow seemed to sink into the
ground. He had seen an object lighter than the trees, darker than
the gray background. Again, that strange sense of the nearness of
something thrilled him.
Moments, passed--to him long as hours. He saw a tall fern waver and
tremble. A rabbit, or perhaps a snake, had brushed it. Other ferns
moved, their tops agitated, perhaps, by a faint breeze. No; that
wavering line came straight toward him; it could not be the wind; it
marked the course of a creeping, noiseless thing. It must be a
panther crawling nearer and nearer.
Joe opened his lips to awaken his captors, but could not speak; it
was as if his heart had stopped beating. Twenty feet away the ferns
were parted to disclose a white, gleaming face, with eyes that
seemingly glittered. Brawny shoulders were upraised, and then a
tall, powerful man stood revealed. Lightly he stepped over the
leaves into the little glade. He bent over the sleeping Indians.
Once, twice, three times a long blade swung high. One brave
shuddered another gave a sobbing gasp, and the third moved two
fingers--thus they passed from life to death.
"Wetzel!" cried Joe.
"I reckon so," said the deliverer, his deep, calm voice contrasting
strangely with what might have been expected from his aspect.
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