The spirit of his ancestor, the shrewd and wary Indian fighter, descended upon him again, and, lying upon his stomach behind the horse, with the rifle ready he was anxious for the attack to come.
Dick was firmly convinced that he had but a single enemy.

Otherwise he would have been attacked in force earlier, and more than one shot would have been fired.

But the report of the rifle was succeeded by deep silence.

The forest was absolutely still, not a breath of wind stirring.
His enemy remained invisible, but the besieged youth was confident that he was lying quiet, awaiting another chance.

Dick, still hot with anger, would wait too.
But other enemies were far more reckless than the hidden marksman.