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crescent moon gleam silver…white over the black hilltop he knew the time was
nigh； and over him ran thrill on thrill。
Chapter XVI。
When the waning moon rose high enough to shed a pale light over forest and
field； two dark figures； moving silently from the shade of the trees； crossed
the moonlit patches of ground； out to the open plain where low on the grass
hung silver mists。
A timber wolf； gray and gaunt； came loping along with lowered nose。 A new
scent brought the animal to a standstill。 His nose went up； his fiery eyes
scanned the plain。 Two men had invaded his domain； and； with a short； dismal
bark； he dashed away。
Like spectres； gliding swiftly with noiseless tread； the two vanished。 The
long grass had swallowed them。
Deserted once again seemed the plain。 It became unutterably lonely。 No stir；
no sound； no life； nothing but a wide expanse bathed in sad； gray light。
The moon shone steadily； the silver radiance mellowed； the stars paled before
this brighter glory。
Slowly the night hours wore away。
On the other side of the plain； near where the adjoining forest loomed
darkling； the tall grass parted to disclose a black form。 Was it only a
deceiving shade cast by a leafy branchonly a shadow？ Slowly it sank； and was
lost。 Once more the gray； unwavering line of silver…crested grass tufts was
unbroken。
Only the night breeze； wandering caressingly over the grass； might have told
of two dark forms gliding； gliding； gliding so softly； so surely； so surely
toward the forest。 Only the moon and the pale stars had eyes to see these
creeping figures。
Like avengers they moved； on a mission to slay and to save！
On over the dark line where plain merged into forest they crawled。 No
whispering； no hesitating； but a silent； slow； certain progress showed their
purpose。 In single file they slipped over the moss； the leader clearing the
path。 Inch by inch they advanced。 Tedious was this slow movement； difficult
and painful this journey which must end in lightninglike speed。 They rustled
no leaf； nor snapped a twig； nor shook a fern； but passed onward slowly； like
the approach of Death。 The seconds passed as minutes； minutes as hours； an
entire hour was spent in advancing twenty feet！
At last the top of the knoll was reached。 The Avenger placed his hand on his
follower's shoulder。 The strong pressure was meant to remind； to warn； to
reassure。 Then； like a huge snake； the first glided away。
He who was left behind raised his head to look into the open place called the
glade of the Beautiful Spring。 An oval space lay before him； exceedingly
lovely in the moonlight； a spring； as if a pearl； gemmed the center。 An Indian
guard stood statuelike against a stone。 Other savages lay in a row； their
polished heads shining。 One slumbering form was bedecked with feathers and
frills。 Near him lay an Indian blanket； from the border of which peered two
faces； gleaming white and sad in the pitying moonlight。
The watcher quivered at the sight of those pale faces； but he must wait while
long moments passed。 He must wait for the Avenger to creep up； silently kill
the guard； and release the prisoners without awakening the savages。 If that
plan failed； he was to rush into the glade； and in the excitement make off
with one of the captives。
He lay there waiting； listening； wrought up to the intensest pitch of fierce
passion。 Every nerve was alert； every tendon strung； and every muscle strained
ready for the leap。
Only the faint rustling of leaves； the low swish of swaying branches； the soft
murmur of falling water； and over all the sigh of the night wind； proved to
him that this picture was not an evil dream。 His gaze sought the quiet
figures； lingered hopefully on the captives； menacingly on the sleeping
savages； and glowered over the gaudily arrayed form。 His glance sought the
upright guard； as he stood a dark blot against the gray stone。 He saw the
Indian's plume； a single feather waving silver…white。 Then it became riveted
on the bubbling； refulgent spring。 The pool was round； perhaps five feet
across； and shone like a burnished shield。 It mirrored the moon； the twinkling
stars； the spectre trees。
An unaccountable horror suddenly swept over the watching man。 His hair stood
straight up； a sensation as of cold stole chillingly over him。 Whether it was
the climax of this long night's excitement； or anticipation of the bloody
struggle soon to come； he knew not。 Did this boiling spring； shimmering in the
sliver moon…rays； hold in its murky depths a secret？ Did these lonesome；
shadowing trees； with their sad drooping branches； harbor a mystery？ If a
future tragedy was to be enacted here in this quiet glade； could the murmuring
water or leaves whisper its portent？ No； they were only silent； only
unintelligible with nature's mystery。
The waiting man cursed himself for a craven coward； he fought back the
benumbing sense； he steeled his heart。 Was this his vaunted willingness to
share the Avenger's danger？ His strong spirit rose up in arms； once more he
was brave and fierce。
He fastened a piercing gaze on the plumed guard。 The Indian's lounging posture
against the rock was the same as it had been before； yet now it seemed to have
a kind of strained attention。 The savage's head was poised； like that of a
listening deer。 The wary Indian scented danger。
A faint moan breathed low above the sound of gently splashing water somewhere
beyond the glade。
〃Woo…o…oo。〃
The guard's figure stiffened； and became rigidly erect； his blanket slowly
slid to his feet。
〃Ah…oo…o；〃 sighed the soft breeze in the tree tops。
Louder then； with a deep wail； a moan arose out of the dark gray shadows；
swelled thrilling on the still air； and died away mournfully。
〃Um…m…mmwoo…o…o…o！〃
The sentinel's form melted into the shade。 He was gone like a phantom。
Another Indian rose quickly； and glanced furtively around the glade。 He bent
over a comrade and shook him。 Instantly the second Indian was on his feet。
Scarcely had he gained a standing posture when an object； bounding like a dark
ball； shot out of the thicket and hurled both warriors to the earth。 A
moonbeam glinted upon something bright。 It flashed again on a swift； sweeping
circle。 A short； choking yell aroused the other savages。 Up they sprang；
alarmed； confused。
The shadow…form darted among them。 It moved with inconceivable rapidity； it
became a monster。 Terrible was the convulsive conflict。 Dull blows； the click
of steel； angry shouts； agonized yells； and thrashing； wrestling sounds
mingled together and half drowned by an awful roar like that of a mad bull。
The strife ceased as suddenly as it had begun。 Warriors lay still on the
grass； others writhed in agony。 For an instant a fleeting shadow crossed the
open lane leading out of the glade； then it vanished。
Three savages had sprung toward their rifles。 A blinding flash；