o gasp, no quick breath should ever show
that he was not a match for them, one and all. His own pace increased.
He almost trod upon the man in front of him, a warrior whom he had heard
Timmendiquas address as Hainteroh (The Raccoon).

Hainteroh said nothing and did not look back, but he felt the strong
step that narrowly missed his heels, the step of a white youth, a
prisoner, and he moved faster--a great Wyandot warrior could not suffer
such an indignity as to be crowded by a captive, one whom he had
regarded as a physical inferior. Those in front moved faster, also, and
now the second increase in speed had been caused by the prisoner
himself.

Henry had become for the time as primitive, as much a child of the
wilderness as they. An ironical spirit laid hold of him. They would test
him! Well, he would test them! The inside of his chest bubbled with
malicious laughter. Once more Hainteroh, great warrior of the Wyandots,
mighty hunter, taker of scalps, fearless among men, felt the planting of
that vigorous step at his very heels, almost upon him. It would not be
pleasant to have so much weight come down upon them, and it would be a
disgrace in the tribe to have been trodden upon by a white prisoner.

A third time the line increased its speed, and a second time it was the
captive youth who caused it. They fairly fled through the forest now,
but the breathing of every man was yet steady and regular.

They came to a wide brook, almost a creek. Anue never paused for an
instant, but took it with a light leap, nor pausing an instant on the
other side, sped on. The second man took it in the same way, then
Hainteroh, and Henry, so close behind that the moccasins of the Wyandot
were scarcely twinkling in the air before the feet of Henry were resting
where his had been.

Henry heard the light sound of the others behind him as one by one they
leaped into his place, but he never looked back. He was still pushing
the Raccoon hard, and a terrible fear was slowly eating its way to the
heart of the redoubtable Hainteroh, chosen warrior of the Wyandots, the
bravest of all races. Sooner or later this demon white youth would tread
upon his heels. He could feel already the scrape of his moccasins, the
ineffable disgrace. He shuddered from head to foot. Such a thing could
not be endured. He fairly leaped through the air, and once more a new
impulse was communicated to the line.

The way now became rougher, leading over stony hills, but