ckfoot foes would probably travel, and knowing the
exact distance, perceived that it would be impossible for him to reach
the camp before them, unless he ran all the way at full speed. The very
thought of this induced him to put on a spurt, which broke him down
altogether. Stumbling over a piece of rough ground, he fell with such
violence that for a moment or two he lay stunned. Soon, however, he was
on his legs again, and tried to resume his headlong career, but felt
that the attempt was useless. With a deep irrepressible groan, he sank
upon the turf.

It was in this hour of his extremity that the latter part of the
preacher's text came to his mind: "looking unto Jesus."

Poor Whitewing looked upwards, as if he half expected to see the Saviour
with the bodily eye, and a mist seemed to be creeping over him. He was
roused from this semi-conscious state by the clattering of horses'
hoofs.

The Blackfoot band at once occurred to his mind. Starting up, he hid
behind a piece of rock. The sounds drew nearer, and presently he saw
horsemen passing him at a considerable distance. How many he could not
make out. There seemed to be very few. The thought that it might be
his friend the trapper occurred, but if he were to shout, and it should
turn out to be foes, not only would his own fate but that of his tribe
be sealed. The case was desperate; still, anything was better than
remaining helplessly where he was. He uttered a sharp cry.

It was responded to at once in the voice of Little Tim, and next moment
the faithful trapper galloped towards Whitewing leading his horse by the
bridle.

"Well, now, this is good luck," cried the trapper, as he rode up.

"No," replied the Indian gravely, "it is not _luck_."

"Well, as to that, I don't much care what you call it--but get up. Why,
what's wrong wi' you?"

"The run has been very long, and I pressed forward impatiently, trusting
too much to my own strength. Let my friend help me to mount."

"Well, now I come to think of it," said the trapper, as he sprang to the
ground, "you have come a tremendous way--a most awful long way--in an
uncommon short time. A fellow don't think o' that when he's mounted, ye
see. There now," he added, resuming his own seat in the saddle, "off we
go. But there's no need to overdrive the cattle; we'll be there in good
time, I warrant ye, for the nags are both good and fresh."

Little Tim spoke the simple truth, for his own horse which h