call, and the figures of the bears
stiffened. Then they slid through the berry patch and disappeared in the
forest, going like shadows. The eagle unfolded his wings, shot upward
like a bolt and was lost in the vast blue vault. The wolf vanished so
silently that Henry found himself merely looking at the place where he
had been. The rabbit disappeared from the mound. The spot of flame on
the glossy brown that marked the presence of the tanager was gone, and
the sober brown bird ceased to sing. The forest idyll was over and Henry
was alone in the berry patch.

He felt bitter anger against the approaching warriors. Before he had
regarded them merely as enemies whose interests put them in opposition
to him. In their place, doubtless, he would do as they were doing, but
now, seeking his death, they had broken the wilderness peace. A desire
for revenge, a wish to show them that pursuers as well as pursued could
be in danger, grew upon him, and, as he fled again, he used little
speed, allowing them to gain until he saw one of the brown figures among
the tree trunks. Then he fired, and, when the figure fell, he uttered a
shout of triumph in the Indian fashion. A yell of rage answered him, and
now, reloading as he ran, he fled at a great rate. Twice he heard the
distant cries, and then no more, but he knew that Shawnees and Miamis
still followed on. The death of the warrior would be an additional
incentive to the pursuit. He would seem to them to be taunting them,
and, in truth, he was.

But he had been refreshed so much by his stay in the berry patch that
his speed now was amazing, wishing to leave them far behind as usual
when the time came for sleep. A river, narrow but deep, suddenly threw
itself across his path. It was an unwelcome obstruction, but, managing
to keep his arms and ammunition dry, he swam it. The water was cold, and
when he was on the other side he ran faster than ever in order to keep
the blood warm in his veins and dry his clothing.

There was but little sunshine now, and a raw, damp wind came out of the
northwest. He looked at the skies anxiously, and they gave back no
assurance. He knew the region had been steadily rising, and he had his
apprehensions. In an hour they were justified. The raw, damp wind
brought with it something that touched his face like the brush of a
feather. It was the year's first flake of snow, premature and tentative,
but it was followed soon by others, until they became a thin whit