Slowly the dark form drew near to the savage. Unconscious of danger, the chief sat silent and motionless as a statue.
The Shawnee brave knew not that the dark angel was nigh—that the dread scourge of his nation was about to add him, another victim, to the long list of those who had fallen as his prey.
“If my guess is right, thar’ll be a dead Injun round here in about two minutes.”
Like one fascinated, Boone gazed upon the scene before him with staring eyes.
The dark form had crept quite close to the savage. It was now hardly a dozen paces from the chief.
A portion of the fleeting cloud passed over the moon; for a single moment the silver light was vailed, and the mantle of darkness cast over the earth.
Hardly had the gloom settled upon the plain, hiding the form of the Indian and the dark, mysterious object that had approached him so stealthily, from the gaze of the scout, when a dull sound, like an ax cutting into a rotten tree, came from the direction of the river; it was followed by a moan of pain.
Boone shivered when the noise fell upon his ears. He guessed only too well what had transpired.
No other sound broke the stillness of the night.
The moon came forth again in its splendor. Again the silver light flooded the prairie, and made the night like unto the day.