A MISCALCULATION.
The Indian was doing his best. Had the whole tribe been assembled on
that clearing, with eyes fixed on him and urging him on, he could have
done no better. He had run many a race, and, since his manhood, had won
them all. Most were gained by no more than half trying, just as he
expected to gain this one when he ordered his companions to remain
behind in the wood, and leave to him the task of bringing back the white
youth who had the effrontery to appear as a contestant in a trial
against him.
The expectation of Blazing Arrow was that of running down Wharton
Edwards just before or at the time he entered the wood on the opposite
side of the clearing. Stretching forward his massive hand, he meant to
hurl him from his feet, and then drive him back to where the other
warriors were waiting to subject him to their whimsical torture.
Yes, Wharton Edwards was destined, in Blazing Arrow's mind, for the
torture. This had been the fierce savage's purpose from the outset, and
it remained as such for a few moments after the two had burst into the
opening. Then a doubt arose, and by the time half the clearing was
thrown behind him the despised youth in front was running faster than he
was.
The soul of Blazing Arrow must have been humiliated beyond expression
when, despite the most strenuous exertions he could put forth, and the
knowledge that never in all his life had he run with greater speed, that
lithe, graceful youth in front began steadily drawing away from him.
It was an astounding truth. Wharton Edwards could outrun the champion of
the Shawanoes, and he was doing it with such certainty that neither he
nor his pursuer could fail to see the fact.
The youth waited till a fourth of the distance was passed, so there
could be no mistake as to the actual test. He had gone that far with
all the strength of which he was capable. He knew that his pursuer had
done the same, so that when he glanced around, the truth as to their
relative speed must be established.
The result was more striking than he had dared to hope. He had widened
perceptibly the space between them, and was still doing so, even though
his venomous enemy was putting forth the utmost exertions of which he
was capable.
It can be understood how the discovery thrilled the fugitive, and he can
be pardoned if, even in that trying moment, he felt a touch of regret
that the race between him and the Indian did not take place, as it was
arranged, at the settlement. What a triumph he would have won!
Nor can he be blamed because in the flush of victory, and with the
belief that the real danger was past, he deliberately snatched off his
cap, swung it above his head, and uttered a shout of exultation. It was
only human nature, and you or I would have done the same had we been in
his place.
The cry was wormwood and gall to Blazing Arrow, and deep must have been
his regret that at the time when, seized with drunken frenzy, he made
for the lad, he did not finish him. Had he done so, the Shawanoe would
have been saved this humiliation.
Why did not the pursuer stop short and bring his rifle into play? He was
a good marksman, and the distance was not enough to require any special
skill on his part. Doubtless the dusky miscreant was influenced by
several reasons, one of which was the loss of ground he would sustain.
Then, too, a man who has been using his muscles so fiercely is not in
the best condition to aim a rifle accurately. Furthermore, it is not
impossible that the Shawanoe believed that the youth was unable to
maintain his astounding speed. He must soon slacken it, and then the
Indian champion would take revenge for this temporary defeat. Wharton
feared an attempt to shoot him, and he continued his prodigious
exertion, since there was every inducement to increase the gain he had
made, and the sheltering wood was now but a short way in advance. He
glanced back a couple of times, and then threw his thoughts forward, for
he recalled that he was confronted by a peculiar condition of things.
Immediately after entering the forest again, the trail made what may be
described as a horseshoe curve. A deep, wooded ravine interposing in
front necessitated a looping of the path. The circuit was a furlong in
length, the trail coming back to within a few rods of the first turn.
Standing at this point, one could see the slightly ascending course on
the side of the narrow ravine, and a man or animal walking up the gentle
incline was in view of any one at the beginning of the curve.
It will be understood, therefore, that if Blazing Arrow should halt at
this point the instant he reached it, and the youth should keep to the
trail, the latter would come directly under the muzzle of his own rifle,
in the hands of his implacable enemy.
But Wharton Edwards was not the one to throw away an advantage gained by
a display of speed such as it is safe to say no other living person
could have made. It would have been idiotic to do so when no necessity
existed.
Several ways of escape presented themselves. He could leave the trail at
the lower point of the loop, not returning to it until well beyond sight
of his enemy, or possibly he could leap across the gorge, as he had done
in the case of the torrent, and thus not sacrifice any ground.
It was this step which he revolved in his mind while dashing across the
last fourth of the narrow plain, but a single fact restrained him; he
doubted his ability to make a successful leap. Although he had been over
the path several times, and might be considered familiar with it, he had
never studied it closely enough to settle the question without another
inspection, and there was not a minute to spare for making that.
If he could make the leap it would be a great gain; if he should fail,
the disaster would be irreparable, for among the wood, brush and
undergrowth he could neither conceal himself nor travel as fast as the
Shawanoe, who would quickly have him at his mercy. The risk was too
great to incur, and he decided not to take it. He did a thing, on the
contrary, which was like an inspiration. Making the short turn, he ran a
few rods, when he glanced toward the plain. Blazing Arrow was invisible,
and would remain so for several minutes, despite the speed with which he
was approaching.
The youth made a powerful leap aside from the path, and dodged behind
the trunk of an oak large enough to shelter his body. Then he stood
panting, alert and watchful, awaiting the coming of his enemy. He saw
him a minute later, through the trees, running with undiminished speed,
and like an engine that was absolutely tireless. The Shawanoe was more
familiar with the course of the trail than the youth, and therefore knew
of its looping, which had puzzled the latter for a few brief moments.
The course adopted by the Shawanoe was peculiar, and for a time assumed
an almost ludicrous phase.
The quick glance which he cast down the path failed to show him the
fugitive, who he must have supposed was still running over it and would
speedily reappear as he rushed up the incline. By leaping the ravine he
would head him off and have him at his mercy.
The pursuer decided to adopt this course, and with only a slight
slackening of pace he dashed toward the gorge; but when almost on the
brink he must have concluded the chances of success were against him,
and he changed his mind. But he did not succeed in changing the course
of his body, as he meant to do. He would not have failed had the bank of
the ravine been as firm as he supposed it was. He checked himself with
the skill of an experienced runner; but the ground gave way, and despite
everything he could do he went floundering, scrambling and struggling to
the bottom of the ravine, which was almost perpendicular and fully
thirty feet deep.
Had he given less attention to the effort to save himself and looked
where he was going it would have been better; for, as it was, although
the fall was considerable, it was so broken that it would have amounted
to little had not his head come in collision with the base of one of
the trees growing in the bottom of the gorge. The impact was violent,
and must have jarred the tree. It jarred Blazing Arrow to that extent
that he tumbled over on his back senseless.
Wharton Edwards was watching matters like a cat waiting for a mouse.
When he saw the Shawanoe disappearing he ran cautiously forward from his
hiding-place, and, not forgetting to screen himself, peeped over the
edge of the ravine.
"I'm afraid he hasn't broken his neck," he muttered, as he noted the
shock the other had received, "though that crack against the trunk of
the tree was enough to kill anyone."
This unlooked-for incident insured the safety of the fugitive, who, if
he chose, could have continued his flight to the block-house; but two
considerations led him to take a different course. He could not desert
Larry Murphy, who, beyond all question, was in imminent peril, and he
disliked beyond expression to lose his rifle, which was a birthday gift
from his father, and a superior piece of workmanship. It was this act
that led him to attempt a feat worthy of Simon Kenton himself.
Leaping lightly from the edge of the ravine, he grasped the branches of
a tree near at hand. It bent low with his weight and broke; but he
seized another, and that also, after dipping downward, gave way and let
him fall. By that time he was so near the ground that he dropped lightly
to his feet. He paused and glanced at Blazing Arrow lying outstretched
on his back, with his face upturned, as if he were dead. But he was not;
he was only senseless.
"If he will only stay that way for a few minutes I shall be all right;
but if he awakes----"
Aye, if he awoke, what vengeance he would take on the youth who dared
not only to beat him at running, but to steal like a beast of prey upon
him!
But young Edwards had determined upon his line of action, and it was now
too late to turn back.