he
must turn into a cloud the veil of fear and superstition that he knew
already enveloped the savage army. They must be smitten by unknown and
mysterious terrors. The five must make the medicine men who were surely
with them believe that all the omens were bad. Henry, although the word
"psychology" was strange to him, knew the power of fear, and he meant to
concentrate all the skill of the five upon its increase. He felt that
already many doubters must be in the ranks of the red and superstitious
army.

"Paul," he said, when they had gone three or four hundred yards, "you
stay here, and if you see any warriors trying to cross the stream take
your best aim. I'm going a little farther, and I'll do the same. With
our great advantages in position we should be able to drive back an
attack, unless they go a very long distance to make the crossing."

"I'll do my best," said Paul, and Henry went about three hundred yards
farther, lying close in a clump of laurel, where he could command a
perfect view of the opposite shore, noticeable there because of a
considerable dip. It was just such a place as the flanking warriors
would naturally seek, because the crossing would be easier, and he
intended to repel them himself.

He lay quite still for a quarter of an hour. Nothing stirred in the
forest on the other shore, but he had expected to wait. The Indians,
believing that a formidable force opposed them, would be slow and
cautious in their advance. So he contained himself in patience, as he
lay with the slender muzzle of his rifle thrust forward.

Finally, he saw the bushes on the opposite shore move, and a face,
painted and ghastly, was thrust out. Others followed, a half-dozen
altogether, and Henry saw them surveying the river and examining his
own shore. The muzzle of his rifle moved forward a few inches more, but
he knew that it would be an easy shot.

The leader of the warriors presently began to climb down the bank. He
was a stalwart fellow and Henry knew by his paint that he was a Miami.
Again the great youth was loath to fire from ambush, but a desperate
need drives scruples away, and the rifle muzzle, thrusting forward yet
an inch or two more, bore directly upon the Indian's heart.

The man was halfway down the bank, about thirty feet high at that point,
when Henry pulled the trigger. Then the Indian uttered his death yell,
plunged forward and fell head foremost into the stream. His body shot
from sight in the water,