ildren,
champion of the fire and stake, as savage as any of the savages. And
it is you, too, Walter Butler, wickeder son of a wicked father. Come a
little closer, won't you? We've messengers here for both of you!"

He tapped lightly the barrel of his own rifle and that of Shif'less Sol,
and repeated his request that they come a little closer.

They understood his words, and they understood, also, the significant
gesture when he patted the barrel of the rifles. The hearts of both
Butler and Wyatt were for the moment afraid, and their boat dropped back
to third place. Henry laughed aloud when he saw. The Viking rage was
still upon him. This was the primeval wilderness, and these were no
common foes.

"I see that you don't want to receive our little messengers," he cried.
"Why have you dropped back to third place in the line, Braxton Wyatt and
Walter Butler, when you were first only a moment ago? Are you cowards as
well as murderers of women and children?"

"That's pow'ful good talk," said Shif'less Sol admiringly. "Henry,
you're a real orator. Give it to 'em, an' mebbe I'll get a chance at one
o' them renegades."

It seemed that Henry's words had an effect, because the boat of the
renegades pulled up somewhat, although it did not regain first place.
Thus the chase proceeded down the Susquehanna.

The Indian fleet was gaining a little, and Shif'less Sol called Henry's
attention to it.

"Don't you think I'd better take a shot at one o' them rowers in the
first boat?" he said to Henry. "Wyatt an' Butler are a leetle too fur
away."

"I think it would give them a good hint, Sol!" said Henry. "Take that
fellow on the right who is pulling so hard."

The shiftless one raised his rifle, lingered but a little over his aim,
and pulled the trigger. The rower whom Henry had pointed out fell back
in the boat, his hands slipping from the handles of his oars. The boat
was thrown into confusion, and dropped back in the race. Scattering
shots were fired in return, but all fell short, the water spurting up in
little jets where they struck.

Henry, who had caught something of the Indian nature in his long stay
among them in the northwest, laughed in loud irony.

"That was one of our little messengers, and it found a listener!"
he shouted. "And I see that you are afraid, Braxton Wyatt and Walter
Butler, murderers of women and children! Why don't you keep your proper
places in the front?"

"That's the way to talk to 'em," whisp