Just then the walls fell in with a loud jar, and as the sparks ascended skyward in a dense cloud, the blaze burst out afresh, and cast a still more brilliant light over the scene. By its aid, Fred could see that the new-comer was an Indian, and an angry glow filled his heart, as he reflected that this same savage might have been an active agent in the death of his family. For the young man still believed that he would find them dead. In no other way could he account for the strange depression that weighed upon his spirits.
And he resolved that this one, at least, should never live to boast of his bloody deeds. He should die, and by his hand. And then he set about compassing this end.
In this point again Fortune seemed favoring him. The red-skin stood motionless for a moment, his eyes roving keenly around the clearing; then his tall form stooped, and he glided to and fro, evidently searching for some sign.
Fred waited in eager anticipation for a moment more favorable than this, although the range was short, and he could easily have picked off the savage with his rifle. But this was a move he did not fancy, as he did not know how many red-skins might be within hearing, and with the lives of others partly depending upon him, Fred dared not run the risk of a shot. The blow must be dealt with cold steel, if at all.
The red-skin ceased his zig-zag movements, and now proceeded in a direct line. Fred knew that he was following some trail, and to his stern delight, found that trail led the Indian toward the Lower Trace.
With sternly-compressed lips and eyes glowing with a strange light, the young scout glided rapidly toward the point where the Trace began, a long, keen knife firmly clenched in his hand. He was none too soon, for scarcely had he crouched behind a tree-trunk, than the Indian entered the bushes, his head still bowed toward the ground.
Then he paused, with a slight grunt, as of disappointment. It was none other than the petty chief who had been with One Eye, or Sloan Young, and who had started off to put Dusky Dick upon the watch when it was found the Stevens family had fled.
Fred Wilson collected his energies and sprung upon the unprepared red-skin, knife in hand. Ere the assailed could lift a finger in self-defense, the keen weapon hissed through the air and then buried itself, with a peculiar thud, deep in his broad chest.
A low, gurgling cry arose to his lips, but then died away with the gush of blood that filled his throat. Then, as the knife was withdrawn, the tall form, so lately full of life and strength, tottered and sunk to the ground, a lump of lifeless clay.
"You are the first one—but will not be the last, by many more!" muttered the young scout, with a terrible depth of hatred and revenge in his tones, as he stooped over the dead man and adroitly removed his scalp.