Was he going to wreak vengeance for a fancied wrong, on his vital, breathing rival, or on his soulless body?
He did not know. He knew that the soul would leave the body before his vengeance was accomplished! If the form swaying before him was alive now he would leave it dead.
Was he going to tomahawk a man or a corpse?
He did not know, and he did not care!
With an expression of fiendish exultation on his dark, evil face, he took a position not more than twenty feet distant from Vere, and drew his tomahawk.
Long practice had made him an adept in the use of his favorite weapon, and he poised it instantly, without any apparent care. He was sure of his aim at such close range, and in a second the tomahawk went whirling out of his hand.
But it missed its human mark by six inches, and fell with a dull splash into the water.
The wind and the swinging motion of the young hunter had baffled him!
He uttered a deep curse, and drew a small pistol from his belt.
To cock it and bring the sights to a level with his eye was but the work of a moment. He pulled the trigger. There was a click as the hammer came down—that was all.