ginning to suspect, uttered a cry,
and he, too, sprang up. His rifle leaped to his shoulder and he fired as
the terrible figure sprang toward him. But it was too late to take any
sort of aim. The bullet flew wide among the trees, and the next instant
Henry was upon him.

The Wyandot dropped his empty rifle and met his foe, shoulder to
shoulder and chest to chest. He was a tall warrior with lean flanks and
powerful muscles, and he did not yet expect anything but victory. He was
one of the many Wyandots who had followed him from the village, but he
alone had found the fugitive, and he alone would take back the scalp. He
clasped Henry close and then sought to free one hand that he might draw
his knife. Henry seized the wrist in his left hand, and almost crushed
it in his grasp. Then he sought to bend the Indian back to the earth.

The Wyandot gave forth a single low, gasping sound. Then the two fought
wholly in silence, save for the panting of their chests and the
shuffling sound of their feet. The warrior realized that he had caught a
foe more powerful than he had dreamed of and also that the foe had
caught him, but he was still sure of his triumphant return to the
village with the fugitive scalp. But as they strove, shoulder to
shoulder and chest to chest, for full five minutes, he was not so sure,
although he yet had visions.

The two writhed over the ground in their great struggle. The warrior
endeavored to twist his hand loose, but in the unsuccessful attempt to
do so, he dropped the knife to the ground, where it lay glittering in
the grass whenever the sunbeams struck upon its blade. Presently, as
they twisted and strove, it lay seven or eight feet away, entirely out
of the reach of either, and then Henry, suddenly releasing the warrior's
wrist, clasped him about the shoulders and chest with both arms, making
a supreme effort to throw him to the ground. He almost succeeded, but
this was a warrior of uncommon strength and dexterity, and he recovered
himself in time. Yet he was so hard pushed that he could make no effort
to reach the tomahawk that still hung in his belt, and he put forth his
greatest effort in order that he might drag his foe from his feet, and
thus gain a precious advantage.

The last lizard scuttled away, and the drone of the insects ceased.
Henry, as he whirled about, caught one dim glimpse of a blue jay, the
same that had chattered so much in his idle joy, sitting on a bough and
staring at the