re mounted and twenty riders were in pursuit. But the
Bannock was considerably in advance now, and the fine black horse he
rode held its own nobly. Out over the prairie flew the pursuing
Cayuses, yelling like demons, the fugitive turning now and then to
utter a shout of derision.

Back at the lodges, the crowd of spectators looked on with excited
comments.

"His horse is tired, ours are fresh!" "They gain on him!" "No, he is
getting farther from them!" "See, he throws away his blanket!" "They
are closer, closer!" "No, no, his horse goes like a deer."

Out over the prairies, fleeting like the shadow of a hurrying cloud,
passed the race, the black horse leading, the Cayuse riders close
behind, their long hair outstreaming, their moccasins pressed against
their horses' sides, their whips falling without mercy. Down a canyon
they swept in pursuit and passed from the ken of the watchers at the
camp, the black horse still in the van.

But it could not cope with the fresh horses of the Cayuses, and they
gained steadily. At last the pursuers came within bowshot, but they
did not shoot; the fugitive knew too well the reason why. Woe unto him
if he fell alive into their hands! He leaned low along his horse's
neck, chanting a weird refrain as if charming it to its utmost speed,
and ever and anon looked back with that heart-shaking shout of
defiance. But steadily his pursuers gained on him; and one,
outstripping the rest, rode alongside and reached out to seize his
rein. Even as he touched it, the Bannock's war-club swung in air and
the Cayuse reeled dead from his saddle. A howl of rage burst from the
others, a whoop of exultation from the fugitive.

But at length his horse's breath grew short and broken, he felt its
body tremble as it ran, and his enemies closed in around him.

Thrice the war-club rose and fell, thrice was a saddle emptied; but
all in vain. Quickly his horse was caught, he was dragged from the
saddle and bound hand and foot.

He was thrown across a horse and brought back to the village. What a
chorus of triumph went up from the camp, when it was seen that they
were bringing him back! It was an ominous sound, with something of
wolfish ferocity in it. But the Bannock only smiled grimly.

He is bound to a post,--a charred, bloodstained post to which others
of his race have been bound before him. The women and children taunt
him, jeer at him, strike him even. The warriors do not. They will
presently do more