snatched
up the pistol, and sent a second bullet, striking a brown figure which
retreated with a cry to the woods. The remainder, Blackstaffe first
among them, also sprang to cover.

The renegade and the four remaining Indians, one of whom was severely
wounded, conferred as they lay among the trees. Blackstaffe was no
coward, yet his heart was as water within him. He was absolutely sure
now that the terrible five were before them. Two shots had been fired,
but the others were only waiting their chance. His own force was but
five now, only four of whom were effective. He was outnumbered, and he
did not know what to do. The Indians would want to carry out the
important orders of Timmendiquas, but there was the river, and they did
not dare to attempt the crossing.

Henry, in his old position, awaited the result with serene confidence.
The seven heralds were now but five, really four, and not only the
stars, but the sun, the day, time, circumstance and everything were
working for him. He had reloaded his weapons, and he was quite sure now
that Blackstaffe and the Indians would stay together. None of them nor
any two of them would dare to go far upstream or down stream, cross and
attempt to stalk him. Nevertheless he did not relax his vigilance. He
was as much the hunter as ever. Every sense was keenly alert, and that
superior sense or instinct, which may be the essence and flower of the
five was most alert of all.

The duel of patience, which was but a phase of the duel of death, was
resumed. On went the sun up the great concave arch of the heavens,
pouring its beams upon the beautiful earth, but on either side of the
river nothing stirred. The nerves of Blackstaffe, the renegade, were the
first to yield to the strain. He began to believe that the five had gone
away, and, creeping forward to see, he incautiously exposed one hand. It
was only for an instant, but a bullet from the other side of the river
cut a furrow all the way across the back of the hand, stinging and
burning as if a red hot bar had been laid upon it.

Blackstaffe dropped almost flat upon the ground, and looked at his hand
from which the blood was oozing. He knew that it was not hurt seriously,
but the wound stung horribly and tears of mingled pain and mortification
rose to his eyes. He suggested to the warriors that they go back, but
they shook their heads. They feared the wrath of Timmendiquas and the
scorn of their comrades. So Blackstaffe waited, bu