Chapter Thirty Three.
The Man in the Yellow Jacket.
Bois-Rose, as already stated, had gone alone in a direction opposite to that taken by his comrades. His mind full of the danger with which Fabian was surrounded—Fabian restored to him as if by a miracle—the Canadian continued to advance with rapid strides. He examined every opening and aisle of the forest with an eye keenly bent, and an ear straining to catch the slightest sound.
After making a distance of a hundred yards or so, he stopped in his tracks, and laying himself flat along the grass, placed his ear to the ground and listened attentively. In a few seconds’ time a dull sound reached him—the hoof-strokes of a horse that seemed to approach the spot where he lay.
“Pepé is right,” muttered he to himself, as he started to his feet; “the skunk is coming this way. Good! he has the advantage of me in being mounted; but I have a rifle that I dare say will make up for the difference—enfant de grâce! he is here!”
As this exclamation escaped him, the trapper was seen suddenly to raise his long rifle to his shoulder. At the same instant a leathern jacket of yellowish colour appeared at some distance off among the leaves, and at about the height of a man on horseback.
The sharp crack of a rifle was instantly followed by the disappearance of the leathern jacket: and, since for marksmen like Bois-Rose to take aim is to hit, the latter had no doubt that his enemy had fallen to the ground either dead or wounded. For a moment he thought of reloading; but the ardour of his vengeance urged him to rush forward and make sure of his victim. In the event that the assassin should have companions, the trapper trusted to his great strength to equalise the chances of a hand-to-hand conflict. Neglecting all further precautions, therefore, like the hunter rushing upon the wounded stag, he dashed forward through the trees toward the spot where his enemy had fallen.
As he drew near, he could perceive a horse rearing furiously in front of him, crushing the underwood as he plunged violently from side to side. The horse was saddled and bridled, but there was no one in the saddle. This led Bois-Rose to the belief that his bullet had dismounted the rider.