his pursuers. He
hesitated and was about to turn at a sharp angle, but the warriors
emerged from the forest. It was then too late.

The savages uttered a shout of triumph, the long, ferocious, whining
note, so terrible in its intensity and meaning, and Henry, raising his
rifle, fired at a painted breast. The next moment they were hurled upon
him in a brown mass. He felt a stunning blow upon the head, sparks flew
before his eyes, and the world reeled away into darkness.

CHAPTER XII

THE PRIMITIVE MAN

When Henry came back to his world he was lying upon the ground, with his
head against a log, and about him was a circle of brown faces, cold,
hard, expressionless and apparently devoid of human feeling; pity and
mercy seemed to be unknown qualities there. But the boy met them with a
gaze as steady as their own, and then he glanced quickly around the
circle. There was no other prisoner and he saw no ghastly trophy; then
his comrades had escaped, and, deep satisfaction in his heart, he let
his head fall back upon the log. They could do now as they chose with
him, and whatever it might be he felt that he had no cause to fear it.

Three other warriors came in presently, and Henry judged that all the
party were now gathered there. He was still lying near the river on
whose banks he had been struck down, and the shifting clouds let the
moonlight fall upon him. He put his hand to his head where it ached, and
when he took it away, there was blood on his fingers. He inferred that a
heavy blow had been dealt to him with the flat of a tomahawk, but with
the stained fingers he made a scornful gesture. One of the warriors,
apparently a chief, noticed the movement, and he muttered a word or two
which seemed to have the note of approval. Henry rose to his feet and
the chief still regarded him, noting the fearless look, and the hint of
surpassing physical powers soon to come. He put his hand upon the boy's
shoulder and pointed toward the north and west. Henry understood him.
His life was to be spared for the present, at least, and he was to go
with them into the northwest, but to what fate he knew not.

One of the warriors bathed his head, and put upon it a lotion of leaves
which quickly drove away the pain. Henry suffered his ministrations with
primitive stoicism, making no comment and showing no interest.

At a word from the leader they took up their silent march, skirting the
river for a while until they came to a shall