be tested to the utmost. Out of the
south came the Indian cry also, and it was answered triumphantly from
the west. A shudder ran through Henry's blood. He was in the trap. The
Indians knew it and they were signaling the truth to one another.

Now he made a great burst of speed, resolving to be well beyond their
reach before the jaws of the vise closed in, and, as he ran, he longed
to hear the howl of the wolves once more, a sound that he had used to
hate always, but which would come now almost like the call of a friend.
While he was wishing for it, the long whine rose, toward the south also,
but a little ahead of the Indian cry. As before it was strange, uncanny,
and a second time the hair on the back of his neck lifted a little.
Evidently the wolves--instinct told him they were a great pack--were
running parallel with the Indians, but for what purpose he could not
surmise, unless it was the hope of food abandoned by the warriors.

His own feet grew heavy, and he heard the triumphant shouts of the
Indians only a few hundred yards away. He was powerful, more powerful
than any of them, but he could not run twice as long as these lean, wiry
and trained children of the forest. His muscles began to complain. He
had been putting them to the severest of tests, and the effect was now
cumulative. A brown figure appeared among the bushes behind him and he
heard the report of a shot. A bullet cut the dead leaves ten yards away,
but he knew that the warriors would soon come nearer and then their aim
would be better.

Now he called upon the last reserve of strength and tenacity, the
portion that is left to the brave when to ordinary minds all seems
exhausted, and made a final and splendid burst of speed, drawing away
from the brown figures and once more opening the gap between hunted and
hunters. But the shout came again from the south and on his right flank
where fresh warriors were closing in, and despite himself his heart sank
for a moment or two in despair. Was he to fall after so many escapes?
How Braxton Wyatt and Blackstaffe would rejoice!

Despair could not last long with him. There was still another ounce of
strength left, and now he used it, fairly springing through the thicket,
while his heart beat hard and painfully and clouds of black motes danced
before his eyes.

He saw a warrior appear among the bushes on the right, and, raising his
own rifle, he fired. The stream of flame that leaped from the muzzle of
his we