lf
hour, and an hour passed, and still Henry did not stir. If a blade of
grass or a twig beside him moved it was because the force of the wind
did it. While he lay there, he examined the thicket incessantly with his
eyes, but he depended most upon his ears. He listened so intently that
he could hear a lizard scuttling through the grass, or the low drone of
insects, but he did not hear the warrior.

He looked up once or twice. The heavens were a solid, shimmering blue.
Now and then birds, fleet of wing, flashed across its expanse, and a
blue jay chattered at intervals in a near tree. The peace that passeth
understanding seemed to brood over the wilderness. There was nothing to
tell of the tragedy that had just begun its first act in the little
thicket.

After the first hour, Henry moved a little, ever so little, but without
noise. He did not intend to get stiff, lying so long in one position,
and, as he had done when a prisoner in the lodge, he cautiously flexed
his muscles and took many deep breaths, expanding his chest to the
utmost. He must rely now upon bodily strength and dexterity alone, and
he thanked God that Nature had been so kind to him.

He flexed his muscles once more, felt that they were elastic and
powerful, and then he put his ear to the earth. He heard a sound which
was not the scuttling of a lizard nor the low drone of insects, but one
that he ascribed to the slow creeping of a Wyandot warrior, bent upon
taking a life. Henry was glad that it was so. He had won the first
victory, and that, too, in the quality in which the Indian usually
excelled, patience. But this was not enough. He must win also in the
second test, skill.

The stake was his life, and in such a supreme moment the boy had no
chance to think of mercy and kindliness. Nearly all the wilderness
creatures fought for their lives, and he was compelled to do so, too. He
now sought the Wyandot as eagerly as the Wyandot sought him.

He resumed the pursuit, and he was guided by logic as well as by sight
and hearing. The Wyandot knew where he had first lain, and he would
certainly approach that place. Henry would follow in that direction.

Another dozen feet and he felt that the crisis was at hand. The little
waving of grass and bushes that marked the passage of the Wyandot
suddenly stopped, and the slight rustling ceased to come. Nerving
everything for a mighty effort, Henry sprang to his feet and rushed
forward. The Wyandot, who was just be