ved, saved his life, when the captive was in such despair that he
sang his death-song, and bowed his head to receive the crashing blow of
the upraised tomahawk. Common gratitude would have bound the Pawnee to
his preserver for life.

The red man must have been puzzled when he observed the abstraction of
the warrior, but without losing time in studying the question, he cocked
his rifle and slowly brought it to his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed
on the warrior up the ridge, whose arms were still folded, and who was
gazing vacantly in the direction of the setting sun. There could be no
mistake about it: the Pawnee meant to slay the Sauk.

But while the treacherous wretch was making his preparations, Deerfoot,
with silent dexterity, fitted an arrow to the string of his bow. The
Pawnee was within easy range, and, before the latter could bring his gun
to a level, the Shawanoe with his unerring left hand drew back the
string of his weapon. The sight of the hostile seeking the life of the
Sauk who had befriended him, stirred the heart of Deerfoot to a fury
which he rarely felt. He had seen ingratitude before, but rarely was he
moved as by the sight before him.

Confident of his aim, he meant to drive the shaft with such force, that,
unless stopped by some bone, it would pass clean through and beyond the
body of the Pawnee, who, unconscious of his own peril, made his
preparations with a deliberation which showed an almost inconceivable
depth of hatred.

"Dog of the Pawnee!" muttered the Shawanoe; "you shall have no time to
chant your death song this time!"

The arrow was drawn almost to a head, but in his anger Deerfoot give it
a quick pull, as expressive of the fierceness of his wrath. As he did
so, a sharp, splitting sound was heard, and the center of his closed
palm felt as if pierced by a hundred needles.

The bow which had never failed him before had splintered in the middle,
and the poised arrow dropped to the ground, its nerveless point falling
between the moccasins of the astounded Deerfoot, who realized the full
effect of the awful accident.

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE PRAYER OF HAY-UTA IS THE PRAYER OF DEERFOOT.

Deerfoot knew the extent of the mishap the instant it took place. There
was no means at command for repairing it, but, in the hope of arousing
Hay-uta and disconcerting the aim of the Pawnee, he bounded from the
tree, giving utterance to the most terrific shout of which he was
capable, and dashed