The spell was
upon him. His imagination became so vivid that it was not a mountaineer
singing. He had gone back into another century. It was one of the
great borderers, perhaps Boone himself, who was paddling his canoe upon
the stream, the name of which was danger. And Kenton, and Logan and
Harrod and the others were abroad in the woods.
He was engrossed so deeply that he did not hear a heavy step behind him,
nor did he see a huge bewhiskered figure in the path, holding a clubbed
rifle. Yet he turned. It was perhaps the instinct inherited from his
great ancestor, who was said to have had a sixth sense. Whatever it may
have been, he faced suddenly about, and saw Bill Skelly aiming at him
a blow with the clubbed rifle, which would at once crush his skull and
send his body into the deep stream.
The same inherited instinct made him leap within the swing of the rifle
and clutch at the mountaineer's throat. The heavy butt swished through
the air, and the very force of the blow jerked the weapon from Skelly's
hands. The next instant he was struggling for his life. Harry was a
powerful youth, much stronger than many men, and, at that instant,
the spirit and strength of his great ancestor were pouring into his
veins.
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