At the same time he thought the red-skin was making an unusual racket, for such a proceeding. He could hear the motion of the feet—soft and heavy—and the bending and breaking of the shrubbery beneath his passage, as though he was taking no pains to hide his approach.
“What’s the use of it?” he reflected; “he knows he’s got a sure thing of it.”
By this time he gave up all hope or fear of its being old Robsart, and was certain that it was one of the dreaded Indians, who, knowing that there was no escape for the lad, was toying and trifling with him, as a cat toys with a mouse before devouring it.
In the intensity of his fear in this direction, Harry forgot all about the camp in front, and had no time to wonder at the continued silence in that direction, a circumstance which would have struck him as very strange, under the circumstances.
The crackling and treading of the undergrowth continued, and the suspense soon became greater than the actual coming of the danger itself would be.
“As I don’t see any way out of the scrape,” he thought, “I may as well end it one way or the other, and so I will meet it.”
He had a faint hope, too, that by stealing along on the ground, he might secure his rifle in time to make a fight for his life.
Accordingly he started with the same care and caution that had marked his approach to the camp.
A half-dozen feet were passed in this manner, and then he paused, stupefied with wonder, amazement and absolute terror!
For of all the strange sights and experiences that he had encountered in this country, of all that had been his during his past life, he never had seen any thing that could compare with that which now greeted his vision!