the face was the face of Sequanawah, captain of the Wachoosetts!
Many thoughts rushed through the boy’s mind in that tiny instant of time. He recalled Sequanawah’s numerous kindnesses, his declaration of friendship, his sorrow at parting. He had but to press that trigger a shade more and the Indian’s soul would go back to his Maker, for the naked breast lay a fair target below him.
“Shoot!”
It was his father’s voice, almost drowned by the concussion of his own gun as he strove to send a bullet into the brain of one of Sequanawah’s companions. David’s heart contracted and the finger on the trigger again pressed tauter. But that instant of hesitation had made the difference between life and death to the Wachoosett. With a final thrust, the burning cart crashed against the house and the flames licked the boards and flared as high as the upper windows. And in the self-same moment a great flash of lightning blazed over the world, paling the ruddy flames in its white intensity. So unforeseen and alarming was it that those at the firing-holes fell back with gasps of fright. A terrific blast of thunder followed it, and the house
