He had heard a slight metallic click, as Wetzel
cocked his rifle. Then he saw the black barrel slowly rise.
"Listen, Lew. Mebbe it ain't good sense. We're after Girty, you
remember; and it's a long shot from here--full three hundred yards."
"You're right, Jack, you're right," answered Wetzel, breathing hard.
"Let's wait, and see what comes off."
"Jack, I can't do it. It'll make our job harder; but I can't help
it. I can put a bullet just over the Huron's left eye, an' I'm goin'
to do it."
"You can't do it, Lew; you can't! It's too far for any gun. Wait!
Wait!" whispered Jonathan, laying his hand on Wetzel's shoulder.
"Wait? Man, can't you see what the unnamable villain is doin'?"
"What?" asked Zane, turning his eyes again to the glade.
The converted Indians sat with bowed heads. Half King raised his
war-club, and threw it on the ground in front of them.
"He's announcin' the death decree!" hissed Wetzel.
"Well! if he ain't!"
Jonathan looked at Wetzel's face. Then he rose to his knees, as had
Wetzel, and tightened his belt. He knew that in another instant they
would be speeding away through the forest.
"Lew, my rifle's no good fer that distance. But mebbe yours is. You
ought to know. It's not sense, because there's Simon Girty, and
there's Jim, the men we're after.
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