it was very brief. With the
exceptions already made known, the red men dashed into the woods in hot
pursuit of the fugitive.

"Deerfoot against the world!" exclaimed Jack, jerking off his cap, as
though he was about to fling it toward the clouds, but he restrained
himself and the cheer which could not be locked between his lips was so
impeded in its escape that it reached no ears on the other side the
river.

"Deerfoot beats the beaters," he added, bringing his feelings under
control; "I don't believe there ever was such a fellow; it must be that
Providence intends him for some work, and like Washington he can not be
killed until that work is done."

Jack had made a similar remark to his mother, when they were talking
about the Shawanoe some weeks previous, and he now recalled with a
shudder her comment, to the effect that the slightest of causes would
bring death to him just as quickly as to any one else, and, sooner or
later, he must succumb to the inevitable. It seemed not unlikely that
the prowess of the young Shawanoe was an element of peril to him, since
he relied too much upon it.

But the youth had eluded the hostiles, when they seemed about to
overwhelm him, and Jack was confident now that he had the cover of the
woods, where he was at home, that he could laugh his enemies to scorn.
The reports of guns, however, which reached his ears, could not but
produce a disquieting effect, which the lad felt for a long time
afterward.

"I wonder whether any one could have heard me," he muttered some minutes
later, when his nerves became calmer. "I forgot myself, as the Indians
themselves did, but I guess no one noticed it."

That prudence which should never leave the frontiersman, suggested that
he ought to descend the tree, and seek some other place of hiding.
Unfortunately, he decided to stay for awhile where he was.

There was much to occupy his attention, and keep alive his interest; for
the discomfited Lone Bear and his mock sympathizers were in plain sight,
and the gesticulations were so clear that it seemed to Jack he could
comprehend the words spoken.

But the most stirring scenes lose in time their interest, and, despite
the situation of Jack Carleton, it was not long before his thoughts
reverted to Otto Relstaub.

"Poor fellow," he muttered, "it does seem as if every thing went wrong
with him; I have no father, but if I had, he could love me no more than
mother. With Otto, however, it is a thousand