“I saw but one.”
“Ahdeek thought he saw another feather.”
“It might have been a fir.”
“Yes, the light did not last long. The Indian Ahdeek saw, hung over the chapel with a tomahawk in his hand.”
The White Tiger was silent for a moment.
“They’ve tracked her to the chapel, and with the next flash the brave intends to hurl his tomahawk into her brain. Ahdeek, steady the canoe, for God’s sake!”
The half-breed dropped his rifle, and hurried to the furthest end of the light craft, which action served in a measure to steady it in the momentary languor of the waves.
The youth cocked and raised his rifle; but with a cry of horror he quickly lowered it, without firing, before the flash of the next electric bolt disappeared.
Three half-naked, painted, and feathered savages stood within the chapel, and a fourth was lowering himself from the roof!
But the girl—the spirit of the lake—was gone—not a sign of her late occupation of the chapel was visible!