that each hissing
breath was a stab, and his eyesight grew dim. He plunged, almost
headlong, down the precipitous side of a ravine and at its bottom,
fell, face downward, into the cool waters of a rippling brook. How
deliciously refreshing were the two or three great gulps that he
swallowed. How the life-giving fluid thrilled his whole frame! If he
could only lie there as long as he chose and drink his fill! But he
could not; two magic words rang like bells in his ears, "Edith" and
"Christie." For his own life alone he would hardly have prolonged this
terrible race with death; but for theirs he must run while he had
strength to stand. So, almost as he fell, he was again on his feet and
scrambling up the steep opposite side of the ravine.

As he gained its crest, a rattling sound caused him to look back--the
foremost of his pursuers was leaping down the farther side. How fresh
and powerful he looked--within two minutes he would overtake him.
Would he? Edith and Christie! The crack of a rifle, the hiss of a
bullet, and the powerful Indian lay quietly beside the little stream as
though resting after his long run. Donald had no time for reloading,
and flinging away his gun, he again sprang forward.

There was a ringing in his ears; but through it he heard the howls of
rage that announced the discovery of the silent one lying by the little
stream, and knew that a desire for vengeance would add swiftness to the
feet of his pursuers. His own seemed weighted with lead, and he felt
that he was crawling; but though he could not realize it he was still
running splendidly, and with almost undiminished speed.

As he leaped, crashing through the underbrush, he was mistaken for a
deer, and only the quick eye of a hunter who was already raising his
rifle for a shot saved him from death at the hands of those whom he
would warn of their peril.

"Halt! who comes?" rang out in crisp tones from him who still presented
his rifle hesitatingly, as he detected the Indian costume of the
advancing runner.

"Friend! The enemy! Oh, Christie!" gasped the fugitive as he
staggered into the arms of the young commandant at Fort Presque Isle.

"By Heavens! It is Donald Hester," he cried in terror, "and I came
near shooting him for a deer! Thank God! Thank God that my hand was
stayed! Why, lad, what is it? You are near dead with running; what
danger threatens?"

"Fly, Christie, fly," panted Donald. "The savages are in hot pursu