He saw there the
track of snowshoes, and suddenly, looking toward the forest,
whither they led, he saw a dark figure flit away among the trees.
CHAPTER XVIII
HENRY'S SLIDE
Henry Ware, lingering at the edge of the clearing, his body
hidden behind one of the great tree trunks, had been watching the
scene with a fascinated interest that would not let him go. He
knew that his work there was done already. Everything would be
utterly destroyed by the flames which, driven by the wind, leaped
from one half-ruined building to another. Braxton Wyatt and his
band would have enough to do sheltering themselves from the
fierce winter, and the settlements could rest for a while at
least. Undeniably he felt exultation as be witnessed the
destructive work of his hand. The border, with its constant
struggle for-life and terrible deeds, bred fierce passions.
In truth, although he did not know it himself, he stayed there to
please his eye and heart. A new pulse beat triumphantly every
time a timber, burned through, fell in, or a crash came from a
falling roof. He laughed inwardly as the flames disclosed the
dismay on the faces of the Iroquois and Tories, and it gave him
deep satisfaction to see Braxton Wyatt, his gaudy little sword at
his thigh, stalking about helpless.
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