Inspirited by the success of his shot, and expecting
momentarily to see him fall weakened with the loss of
blood, the excited Valletort redoubled his exertions. To
his infinite joy, he found that the efforts of the fugitive
became feebler at each moment Johnstone was about twenty
paces behind him, and the pursuing party at about the
same distance from Johnstone. The baronet had now reached
his enemy, and already was the butt of his rifle raised
with both hands with murderous intent, when suddenly
Wacousta, every feature distorted with rage and pain,
turned like a wounded lion at bay, and eluding the blow,
deposited the unconscious form of his victim upon the
sward. Springing upon his infinitely weaker pursuer, he
grappled him furiously by the throat, exclaiming through
his clenched teeth:--
"Nay then, since you will provoke your fate--be it so.
Die like a dog, and be d--d, for having balked me--of my
just revenge!"
As he spoke, he hurled the gasping officer to the earth
with a violence that betrayed the dreadful excitement of
his soul, and again hastened to assure himself of his
prize.
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