Haldidge drew his breath faintly and slowly, yielding more and more to that fatal subtle influence. He knew he was charmed, and yet he couldn’t help it. It was now impossible to shake off that weight which pressed him down like an incubus. That outer world—so to speak—had now receded, and he was in another, from which he could not return without help beside his own. He seemed to be moving, flitting, sinking, and rising, through the thin air, borne upward and downward, hither and thither, on a wing of fire. The spell was complete. That extraordinary power which instinct holds over reason—that wonderful superiority which a reptile sometimes shows he can exert over man, the snake now held over the hunter.
At this point, from some cause or other, one of the savages struck the log a violent blow with his hatchet. Haldidge heard it. He drew a long breath, closed his eyes, and when he reopened them, looked down at his hands upon which his chin had been resting.
The charm was broken! the hunter had shaken off the fatal spell!
Like the knocking at the gate in Macbeth, which dispels the dark, awful world of gloom in which the murderers have been moving and living, and ushers in our own world, with all its hurrying tide of human life and passions; so this blow of the Indian’s tomahawk broke the subtle, magnetic spell of the serpent, and lifted the heavy mantle-like influence which wrapped Haldidge in its folds.
He looked downward, and determined not to raise his eyes again, for he knew the same power would again rise above him. The serpent, seemingly conscious of its loss of influence, rattled once more, and prepared to strike. Haldidge stirred not a muscle; in fact, he had scarcely moved since entering the log. But the snake did not strike. The continued, death-like stillness of the hunter, evidently seemed to the reptile to be death itself. He coiled and uncoiled himself several times, and then lifting his head, crawled directly over his neck and body, and passed out of the log! Here he was killed by the Indians.
Now that the hunter was himself again, he prepared for further action. The Indians had arisen from the log and were at some distance. He could hear the mumbling of their voices, but could not distinguish their words. After awhile these ceased, and he heard no more.
Haldidge was now filled with apprehension for the others. He had enough faith in the power and cunning of Seth to feel pretty confident that he would neither lead any one into ambush or fall into one himself, let it be prepared as skillfully as it might be; but then he could know nothing of the Indians in the rear, who might surprise Haverland and Graham at any moment.
The hunter at length grew so restless and uneasy that he emerged from his hiding-place as rapidly and silently as possible. He looked cautiously around, but no savage was in sight. Filled with the most painful apprehensions, he hastened through the wood, avoiding the trail of his friends, however, and finally came in sight of them. Before making himself known he concluded to reconnoiter the place. While doing so, he saw the head of an Indian rise slowly above a bush, and peer over at the unconscious whites. Without losing a moment, he raised his rifle, took a quick but sure aim, and fired. Then calling out to Haverland and Graham, he sprang for an instant into view.
“Make for cover!” he shouted; “the Indians are upon us!”
In an instant, every one of the whites was invisible.