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Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander), 1862-1919

"The Hunters of the Hills"

Certainly nothing was moving in the
forest. The leaves hung lifeless. His fancies had been foolish.
He stepped boldly from the undergrowth in which he had knelt, and a
glimpse of a flitting shadow made him kneel again. It was instinct that
caused him to drop down so quickly, but he knew that it had saved his
life. Something glittering whistled where his head had been, and then
struck with a sound like a sigh against the trunk of a tree.
Robert sank from his knees, until he lay almost fiat, and brought his
rifle forward for instant use. But, for a minute or two, he would not
have been steady enough to aim at anything. His tongue was dry in his
mouth, and his hair lifted a little at his marvelous escape.
He looked for the shadow, his eyes searching every thicket; but he did
not find it, and now he believed that the one who had sped the blow had
gone, biding his time for a second chance. Another wait to make sure,
and hurrying to the hollow he awoke Tayoga and the hunter, who returned
at once with him to the place where the ambush had miscarried.


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