Fearful of being discovered, Habakkuk crouched down, and cocked his gun.
"It must be some of the scoundrels, who are everywhere; I hadn't orter been quite so rash—"
At that moment some one sprang into the river, and, wading out a short distance, began swimming for the other shore.
The timid patriot did not dare look out at him until he had gotten some distance away, when he peeped through the undergrowth, and scrutinized the head and shoulders that were moving rapidly across the stream.
Then, to his amazement, he recognized the man as Jake Golcher, the Tory, who had wrought all this ruin and sorrow; though Habakkuk was far from suspecting the whole result of the shot of the renegade.
"By the great Cæsar! it's him," gasped Habakkuk, trembling with excitement; "and that gives me a chance to win some laurels with the other folks, especially with pretty Maggie."
Assuming a kneeling position, he took the most careful aim of his life at the unsuspecting ingrate, and when certain there could be no miss, pulled the trigger.
There was no flash in the pan nor miss of aim. The career of Jake Golcher ended then and there, with a suddenness and freedom from suffering that were mercy compared to what he deserved.
Habakkuk McEwen lingered long enough to make certain that there was no mistake, and then he stealthily reloaded his rifle before stirring from the spot. He was apprehensive when several Indians appeared on the other shore and showed some signs of an intention to cross the stream.
This was enough for McEwen, who scrambled out of his hiding-place, and scarcely paused until he reached the camp, where he came upon the sorrowful scene to which we have already referred.