When the last vestige of sunset had vanished and twinkling stars were reflected from the placid lake, the half-breed descended from his lookout point, and, launching his canoe, followed close to the shadowed shore and landed just above where McGuire disembarked. Indian that he was, he chose the hours of night and darkness to crawl up to the bark shelter which he expected to find, his intention being to thrust a rifle muzzle close to his enemy’s head and then pull the trigger.
But to do this required a long wait and extreme caution. His enemy surely had a camp-fire behind a ledge, and shelter as well. The smoke had seemed to rise out of a ledge, but certainly could not, and so–still unaware of McGuire’s position, yet sure that he was amid these ledges, and near a shelter–Pete grasped his rifle and crept ashore.
It was too early to surprise his enemy–time to fall asleep must be allowed. Yet so eager was the half-breed to deal death to him, that he must needs come here to wait. No chances must be taken when he did crawl up to his victim, for a false step or the rattle of a loose stone, or his form outlined against the starlit sky as he crawled over a ledge, might mean death to him instead of McGuire. And so, crouching safely in a dark nook above the landing, Pete waited, watched, and listened.
One hour passed–it seemed two–and then the half-breed crept stealthily up to where the smoke had been seen. Not by strides, or even steps, but as a panther would, lifting one foot and feeling where it would rest and then another, and all the while listening and advancing again.
It was McGuire’s habit, while staying here, to look at the weather prospects each night, and also to obtain a drink of cool lake water before going to sleep.
Often when the evenings were not too cold, he would sit by the lake shore for a half-hour, smoking and watching its starlit or moon-glittering surface, and listening to the calls of night prowlers.
In spite of being an outlaw, devoid of moral nature, and one who preyed upon his fellow-man, he was not without sentiment, and the wild grandeur of these enclosing mountains, and the sense of security they gave, were pleasant to him. His life had been a harsh and brutal one. He had dealt in man’s lust and love of liquor. He measured all humankind by his own standard of right and wrong, and believed that he must rob others or they would rob him. He had followed that belief implicitly from the start, and would so long as he lived. He felt that every man’s hand was against him, and no reproaches of conscience had resulted from his cold-blooded killing of an officer. Never once did the thought return of the few years when a woman’s hand sought his in tenderness, nor any sense of the unspeakable horror he had decreed for his own child.
So vile a wretch seemed unfit for God’s green earth; and yet the silence of night beside this lake, and the stars mirrored on its motionless surface, soothed and satisfied him.
