It was like approaching a sleeping tiger, likely at any moment to bound to his feet and rend the helpless victim, and Wharton Edwards, despite his well-proved courage, felt a misgiving as he drew near the terrible Shawanoe.

Blazing Arrow in falling held the rifle fast so long as his senses remained with him; but when he came near splitting the tree trunk with his head, the weapon flew several feet away. This happened to be the side farthest from Wharton, who, therefore, was forced to walk around him in order to secure the gun.

Everything depended on promptness; and when Wharton found himself within a few paces—too close to retreat—he took several quick leaps, and bending over, snatched up the weapon from where it lay on the ground.

Words cannot picture the relief that came to him when his hands closed about his beloved rifle, and he knew that, from fleeing in terror before the fierce Shawanoe, he was now his master. He could not only defy his wrath, but Blazing Arrow was at his mercy.

Quickly as all this took place, Wharton was not a second too soon. At the moment of stepping back and looking at the Shawanoe, the latter began rallying from the shock that had held him senseless for a briefer period than seemed to be the case. Doubtless he suffered a good deal of pain from the accident, but he was too stoical to show it. He moved uneasily, muttered something in his own tongue, and then came to a sitting posture with such suddenness that the startled youth recoiled several paces and grasped the weapon more firmly than before.

The painted face was like that of a demon, as the Indian, fully understanding what had taken place, sat for a few seconds glaring at the youth, ten feet away, unable to speak, perhaps because of his overflowing wrath, but emitting a serpent-like hissing between his teeth, as if in warning of the blow he was about to strike.

The law of the frontier would have justified young Edwards in sending a bullet through the one that had sought his life. Perhaps few would have condemned him if he had fired when Blazing Arrow's face assumed the expression of hatred which is beyond description; but the lad, despite his training, could never have condoned such an act, now that his life was in no danger.

Recalling that the Shawanoe spoke English tolerably well, Wharton, holding his rifle ready for instant use, addressed him:

"Are you much hurt, Blazing Arrow?"

"Yes—much hurt—can't walk—can't stand."

Had the wily red man been less prompt with his reply he might have deceived the youth. The latter could feel no pity for him, even though he knew he was suffering, but there was an eagerness in his manner which convinced Wharton that he was shamming, and was not injured to such an extent as to be unable to help himself.

Blazing Arrow spoilt everything by adding, before the other could make response:

"Help Shawanoe up—maybe he den walk," and he reached out his hand toward the boy.

"I rather guess not," replied Wharton, with a faint smile and a meaning shake of his head; "if you can't rise to your feet you can stay there, for all I care."

"Help little bit," persisted the Shawanoe, making what seemed to be a futile effort, and sinking back with one hand still extended, as though he were a child.

"No, sir," replied the youth more emphatically, "I wouldn't trust you, Shawanoe."

"No speak lie—Blazing Arrow no double tongue."

"You have always had a double tongue; you have always spoken lies. Was it not you who tried to kill me when we were about to run a race?"

"Shawanoe drink fire-water—didn't know nuffin'."

"You knew enough to run off in the woods before my friends could punish you. Why have you chased me so far to-day?"

"Want to catch you," replied the warrior frankly, evidently perceiving that this was an occasion in which truth would serve better than falsehood.

"What hindered you from catching me?"

"Brudder run faster dan Shawanoe."

"Did you run as fast as you could?"

"Yes—run hard—run like thunder—brudder much run—beat deer—beat antelope."

"Then I can beat you?" asked Wharton with a meaning look at the subtle miscreant, who nodded his head with great vigor as he made reply:

"Yes—beat Shawanoe—run faster—much more run."

If Blazing Arrow hoped by "acknowledging the corn" in this fashion to win the confidence of the youth he was mistaken. He could afford to own up when the only one that heard him was his conqueror. Little fear of his ever making the confession to his own people.

"That's the first truth you have told in a long time. What would you have done to me if you had outrun and captured me?"

"Take back to Shawanoes."

"And what then?"

"Run race wid me."

"Suppose I had beaten you?"

"Den get away—like do now. No hurt brudder."

Wharton little doubted that such a chase would have been arranged, with the difference that no possible escape would have been left for him.

"If I had outrun you would I have been allowed to go free?"

"Yes—dat so—ugh!—yes."

"Well, being that I have just outrun you, I will keep a good distance between you and me."

And thereupon Wharton turned about and began walking along the ravine toward the point whence he came. As he did so he partly turned his head, so as to keep the wretch in his field of vision; he knew better than to trust him, even to the smallest degree. He half expected to see him leap to his feet and dash after him, but the wily warrior remained seated until the intervening trees shut him from sight. Wharton hurried along the ravine, and curved again and came back before he struck a place which permitted him to climb out. He did so, however, with little difficulty, and, reaching the path once more, began retracing his steps to the clearing, across which he had run with such great speed.

This brought him to the spot where Blazing Arrow had met with his mishap. Stealing carefully forward, Wharton peered over. To his astonishment the Shawanoe was not in sight; he had disappeared as utterly as though he had never been. At the same moment the youth made another and more astounding discovery.