cceed, and bending away
from the sentinel he resumed that slow, sliding motion.

He was sure that he would find on his right another warrior on watch,
and, as he was moving in that direction, he looked closely. He saw him
presently, a tall fellow, standing erect among some bushes, his rifle in
the crook of his arm. He seemed discontented with his situation--even
the savage can get too much of cold and wet--and presently he moved a
little further to the right, as if he would seek some sort of shelter
from the rain. Then Henry crept straight forward toward the fortress of
his friends, a scant fifty yards away.

But he did not assume that he had yet succeeded. He knew how thoroughly
the Indians kept watch upon a foe, whom they expected to take, and there
must be other sentinels, or at least one, and bearing that fact in mind
his progress became still slower. He merely went forward inch by inch,
and he was so careful that the bushes above him did not shake. All the
while his eyes roved about in search of that lone last sentinel whom he
was sure the Indians had posted near the entrance, in order to check any
attempt at an escape.

Although it was very dark his eyes had grown used to it and he could see
some distance. Yet his range of vision was not broken by the figure of
any warrior, and he began to wonder. Could the vigilance of the savages
have relaxed? Was it possible that they were keeping no guard near the
entrance? While he was wondering he crept directly upon the sentinel.

He was a huge savage, inured to cold and wet and he had lain almost flat
in the grass. Hearing a slight sound scarce a yard away he turned and
the eyes of red forest runner and white forest runner looked into one
another. Henry was the first to recover from his surprise and the single
second of time was worth diamonds and rubies to him. Dropping his rifle
he reached out both powerful hands and seized the warrior. The loud cry
of alarm that had started from the chest never got past the barrier of
those fingers, and the compressing grasp was so deadly that the Indian's
hands did not reach for tomahawk or knife. Instead they flew up
instinctively and tried to tear away those fingers of iron. But the man
of old might as well have tried to escape from the jaws of the
saber-toothed tiger.

The great forest runner was exerting all his immense strength, and he
was nerved, too, by the imminent danger to his friends and himself. No
slightest sound must