he beating of the dragon-flies' wings, the strokes of the
water-spiders' legs, like oars which had lifted their boat--all these made
audible music. A fish slid along beneath his eyes and he heard the rush of
its body parting the water.

He had come to the surface facing down the stream; in a moment the visible
world seemed to wheel slowly round, himself the pivotal point, and he saw
the bridge, the fort, the soldiers upon the bridge, the captain, the
sergeant, the two privates, his executioners. They were in silhouette
against the blue sky. They shouted and gesticulated, pointing at him; the
captain had drawn his pistol, but did not fire; the others were unarmed.
Their movements were grotesque and horrible, their forms gigantic.

Suddenly he heard a sharp report and something struck the water smartly
within a few inches of his head, spattering his face with spray. He heard
a second report, and saw one of the sentinels with his rifle at his
shoulder, a light cloud of blue smoke rising from the muzzle. The man in
the water saw the eye of the man on the bridge gazing into his own through
the sights of the rifle. He observed that it was a gray eye, and
remembered having read that gray eyes were keenest and that all famous
marksmen had them. Nevertheless, this one had missed.

A counter-swirl had caught Farquhar and turned him half round; he was
again looking into the forest on the bank opposite the fort. The sound of
a clear, high voice in a monotonous singsong now rang out behind him and
came across the water with a distinctness that pierced and subdued all
other sounds, even the beating of the ripples in his ears. Although no
soldier, he had frequented camps enough to know the dread significance of
that deliberate, drawling, aspirated chant; the lieutenant on shore was
taking a part in the morning's work. How coldly and pitilessly--with what
an even, calm intonation, presaging and enforcing tranquillity in the
men--with what accurately measured intervals fell those cruel words:

"Attention, company! Shoulder arms! Ready! Aim! Fire!"

Farquhar dived--dived as deeply as he could. The water roared in his ears
like the voice of Niagara, yet he heard the dulled thunder of the volley,
and, rising again toward the surface, met shining bits of metal,
singularly flattened, oscillating slowly downward. Some of them touched
him on the face and hands, then fell away, continuing their descent. One
lodged between his collar and neck