At the same time it occurred to him that if the flash of his gun should be noticed, and his whereabouts discovered, he would be in the worst possible situation.
Parting the limbs, so as to give him the view he wished, he held his weapon ready to fire any instant, while he closely watched proceedings.
No better aim could have been required than that now given him; he could cover every one in the party, and the distance was so short that it was impossible to miss.
"I ought to shoot him," he muttered, as he looked at Jake Golcher, while sitting by Maggie Brainerd and talking with such earnestness; "it is he who has followed us, and but for him the party would be well out of danger by this time."
The young lieutenant was angry enough to shoot a dozen Tories, had the chance been his; but when he sighted along the gleaming barrel of his rifle, on which the firelight fell, he could not bring himself to the point.
"Yes; I ought to do it," he added, "but I can't feel right in picking off a man in that fashion. No; I'll wait till he gives me a better excuse."
The watcher knew what passed between Maggie, Golcher, and Mr. Brainerd, when the last came up and uttered his indignant protest, almost as well as if he had overheard the words themselves.
"Jake has proposed to let the whole party off, provided Maggie will marry him, and before she can decide (for he knows if she makes the promise she will keep it, if they both live), father is giving the Tory a piece of his mind. He's doing it in a style, too, that can't be misunderstood."
This little scene lasted but a few seconds, when Mr. Brainerd resumed his seat on the log, close to his daughter, as if he would protect her from any more such advances.
All this was noted and understood by the watcher in the tree, when the latter was recalled to his own situation by a slight rustling below. Looking down, he was able to see by the light of the camp-fire the figure of a Seneca Indian, as he walked softly in the direction of the camp.