| 132 | 133 | 134 | 135 | 136 |
| 1 | 41 | 81 | 122 | 162 |
|
www.freeclassicebooks.com
Equally indolent were the motions of the Mosula youth as he drew his skiff
beneath an overhanging limb of a great tree that leaned down to implant a
farewell kiss upon the bosom of the departing water, caressing with green fronds
the soft breast of its languorous love.
And, snake-like, amidst the concealing foliage lay the malevolent Russ. Cruel,
shifty eyes gloated upon the outlines of the coveted canoe, and measured the
stature of its owner, while the crafty brain weighed the chances of the white man
should physical encounter with the black become necessary.
Only direct necessity could drive Alexander Paulvitch to personal conflict; but it
was indeed dire necessity which goaded him on to action now.
There was time, just time enough, to reach the Kincaid by nightfall. Would the
black fool never quit his skiff? Paulvitch squirmed and fidgeted. The lad yawned
and stretched. With exasperating deliberateness he examined the arrows in his
quiver, tested his bow, and looked to the edge upon the hunting-knife in his loin-
cloth.
Again he stretched and yawned, glanced up at the river-bank, shrugged his
shoulders, and lay down in the bottom of his canoe for a little nap before he
plunged into the jungle after the prey he had come forth to hunt.
Paulvitch half rose, and with tensed muscles stood glaring down upon his
unsuspecting victim. The boy's lids drooped and closed. Presently his breast
rose and fell to the deep breaths of slumber. The time had come!
The Russian crept stealthily nearer. A branch rustled beneath his weight and the
lad stirred in his sleep. Paulvitch drew his revolver and levelled it upon the black.
For a moment he remained in rigid quiet, and then again the youth relapsed into
undisturbed slumber.
The white man crept closer. He could not chance a shot until there was no risk
of missing. Presently he leaned close above the Mosula. The cold steel of the
revolver in his hand insinuated itself nearer and nearer to the breast of the
unconscious lad. Now it stopped but a few inches above the strongly beating
heart.
But the pressure of a finger lay between the harmless boy and eternity. The soft
bloom of youth still lay upon the brown cheek, a smile half parted the beardless
lips. Did any qualm of conscience point its disquieting finger of reproach at the
murderer?
134
Page
Quick Jump
|