against his waist, as though it were a
watch charm which he was holding in place for the admiration of others.
"If I should walk back to Martinsville, and stride up and down between
the houses, wouldn't the folks open their eyes? and wouldn't mother
conclude that her Jack was doing well?"

In order the better to examine the scalp, the lad had laid down his gun
and the quiver and bow within the canoe, where they could be caught up
if wanted. He was too prudent to hold his position, with the possibility
of the Pawnees reappearing, without continually glancing around in quest
of them. Aware, too, that his footprints were likely to be discovered,
he would not have approached the canoe, had it not been for a
well-formed purpose of turning the boat to his own advantage.

"The Pawnees have come over the river to raise the mischief with us, so
it will only be fair if I do what I can to reciprocate. I'm sure that
when they come back, this canoe will either be missing, or it will have
to run into port for repairs."

A shiver as if from an electric shock darted from the crown of Jack's
head to his feet, for at that instant, he heard a slight sound as if
made by a person clearing his throat. Looking up, he saw one of the
Pawnee warriors, twenty yards distant, walking toward him. He held his
rifle in one hand, and was moving slowly with his eyes fixed on the
ground just in front of him. His manner left no doubt that he was the
owner of the scalp in the canoe, and that, having missed it, he was
walking back over his own trail, while he searched every foot of ground
for the trophy. He had not seen the young Kentuckian, and had no
suspicion that he was in the vicinity. Discovery, however, must come
within the next few seconds, for the nearest shelter was too far off to
be of avail. The sight of the pale-face skurrying to cover, would be
sure to bring a bullet from the Pawnee's gun, or he would summon his
comrades to the spot, by one of those whoops which were heard so many
times the previous day.

[Illustration: A CRITICAL SITUATION.]

There was but one thing to do--shoot at the Pawnee and run. Jack bent
over to pick up his gun, but in his panic grasped Deerfoot's bow by
mistake. Fortunately, it was strung, and it took only a second or two to
fit an arrow in place. Pointing it at the approaching Indian, he put
forth his utmost strength to draw it to a head.

Before he could do so the Pawnee was within ten yards--close enough for