"Not precisely!" interrupted another voice, on the same level; "It is you, dog, who shall die!"
On this threat from an unexpected quarter, Paul dropped to the next ledge and jumped behind a tree. Leon rose slowly and cautiously, and looked up. By the stranger's voice he had, he believed, recognised Dearborn.
He and the bandit were at the limits of a comparatively clear space. The youth stole off obliquely to the right so as to left flank the Frenchman. He aimed his rifle, and, leaving shelter, cried so loudly that the Englishman could also know him by his voice:
"You are all wrong. Mr. Paul, it is you who must die."
Lottery Paul looked at him steadily and replied:
"Maybe—two to one is odds—but you shall lead the way to Kingdom come."
But before he had time to change the direction of his piece, bearing on the Englishman, Leon fired, knowing what kind of murderous fellow he was.
Over he rolled, clawing up the moss, with a fractured skull.
Dearborn ran up. But at the same time there was a noise in the thicket, and several men appeared. Nothing was more impressive than this peopling of the solitude in such obscurity.
"Drop your guns!" shouted one of the newcomers, authoritatively; "We're all friends here, I reckon."