An old fellow
commenced to shout at him, and motion for him to go faster. But he
didn't wish to go faster; the ground was thickly grown to prickly-pear
cactus, and he had to pick his path amidst the spines.

Then the old Indian scuttled after him, very impatient. Told him to go
faster yet--hurry, hurry! Even gave him a shove, or two.

From about one hundred yards out he looked again, and saw that the
younger warriors were casting off their blankets and leggins; were
stripping as if for a race!

What! A race it was to be, with his scalp the prize? A wave of hope
and determination surged into his throat, and his heart beat madly.
After all, the Blackfeet were treating him like a man. He was one
among eight hundred; they had given him a chance!

He drew long breath. He was in his prime, aged about thirty-five; was
five feet ten inches in height, stout-limbed, broad chested--strongly
built after the Daniel Boone type of hunter. And he was a swift
runner; few men that he knew were his equal.

With a leap, he launched himself full-speed across the bare plain,
aiming for the Madison River, five miles before. A burst of yells and
whoops reached his ears. He glanced behind and saw some one hundred
young braves, naked, the most of them, to their breech-clouts,
careering after with spears.

He had made good time in other races, but he never had run like this.
His strength and stride astonished him. The ground fairly whizzed from
under him, the wind whined in his ears, almost drowning the cries of
the pursuit. He wasted no moments now in picking his way through the
prickly-pears; had to step on them with his bare soles, whether or no;
and he gathered the stinging spines as a pin-cushion gathers pins.

He wasted no moments, either, in looking back. He bent all his energy
upon reaching the Madison River. Soon he had run a mile, without
slackening; could hear no feet except his own, had felt no lunge of
spear. He kept on for another mile, and had not dared to relax. His
lungs were sore, his throat dry, his breath wheezed, and his eyes were
dizzy. But he was half way to the Madison. Was he going to escape?
He did not know. The yells were fainter.

But what was that? Blood began to gush from his nose, choking him. He
had burst a blood-vessel. It frightened him and weakened him, and he
rather despaired. For the first time he glanced over his shoulder, to
measure distance. Hurrah! He had dropped all the B