He was yet half-wild with rage; and with the blood still streaming from his disfigured face, he made ready to hurl his tomahawk, hoping to sate his vengeance and send the young hunter to eternity.
Vere was looking at him, and his heart seemed for a moment to stop its pulsations.
This time death seemed certain.
He saw that the red demon did not intend to throw at the cord.
He was taking deliberate aim at his head!
The young hunter saw him draw back his weapon, and closed his eyes.
There was a moment of terrible agony to the man vibrating, as it were, between earth and eternity—and then all became dark!
He seemed to be shooting down—down—and he knew no more.
He had fainted.
Those few terrible moments of suspense—ages they seemed to him—had been more than he could bear. The constantly tightening noose around his ankles was excruciatingly painful, and the position in which he hung caused the blood to flow to his head. None but a man young and strong like Vere could have retained his consciousness so long as he had done.