A face rose to the surface of the water, invisible behind a rock, and a pair of lips opened wide to admit air, then closed tightly and disappeared.
“Now, make haste,” said Vytal to Manteo. “Get you over yonder ridge and intercept our enemy if he lands there.” Without a word the Indian sprang to the sand-bank, and, clearing it, was lost to view. Vytal turned to Marlowe. “Stay here. He is a fox, and may retrace his course, supposing that we have gone to the right and left in search of him. I guard the northern shore,” and instantly Vytal disappeared beyond the second bulwark.
“He is not a fox, but a fish,” muttered Marlowe, reloading his pistol. Almost before the words were spoken a head appeared above the surface of the water. The poet raised his weapon and took aim.
“Oh,” exclaimed Frazer, unconcernedly, as he waded inshore, “is this thy boasted poetry, to shoot me like a dog?”
Marlowe impatiently drew a rapier, while Frazer came to the beach.
“Once more,” he said, “the crown prince must fight with a commoner.” Then, feigning to thrust at Christopher, he suddenly swerved, and with his left hand grasped the horn which he and Vytal in turn had let fall near the water.
“This was the signal,” he declared, still menacing the poet with a flashing blade. “Not one blast, but three!” And he blew thrice in rapid succession.
Instinctively Marlowe turned toward the forest, expecting to see a horde of savages rush therefrom upon him. But in that instant of error only a single figure crossed his vision, fleet as Mercury, and, to his deep mortification, even before he could change rapier for pistol, he saw Frazer vanish in the woods.
In a fit of wild exasperation the poet started headlong in pursuit; but he had scarcely crossed the beach when Vytal and Manteo, recalled by the horn’s flourish, reappeared from beyond the ridges.