Blazing Arrow: A Tale of the Frontier
Page 5
CHAPTER V.
THROUGH THE WOODS.
The race between Wharton Edwards and the famous Shawanoe runner, BlazingArrow, was to come off at last, but under far different circumstancesthan either had ever anticipated.
The wretch, while under the influence of liquor, had attempted the lifeof the youth, and now, when his own natural self, he was determined torun him down, and to his death. He hated the whole race with a consuminghatred, and his wrath against this lad was more intense than against anyhuman being. It was he that had the audacity to think himself worthy ofrunning a race with him, who had defeated the most renowned runners ofthe Wyandots, Pottawatomies, and the adjoining tribes, to say nothing ofhis own people.
The action of the Shawanoes, when young Edwards made his leap of thechasm, can be understood. The youth's life was spared, where no otherperson would have been permitted to live after placing himself in theirpower. Blazing Arrow, as well as several of his associates, recognizedthe youth the instant they saw his face, and a hurried consultation tookplace as to what should be done.
But for the presence of their champion they would not have permitted himhis slight advantage; but their faith in Blazing Arrow was as completeas his own, besides which he was one of their leaders. He ordered themto remain quiet, or rather to devote themselves to bringing down whatwhites were near, while he made a little dash and brought back thefugitive.
This was how it came about that Wharton Edwards, instead of beingpursued by a score of Shawanoes, started off with but a single warriortrailing after him.
But it is noticeable, further, that the same pursuer carried his rifle,or rather that of the youth; for, with the characteristic refinement ofcruelty, he meant to add this little triumph to his capture of the ladwhen he should run him down and smite him to the earth.
Wharton had no weapon other than his hunting-knife, while his foe tookgood care to see that a weapon was at his own command. He was the onewho, if any accident befell himself, would feel pleasure in shootingdown the lad that had never harmed him.
The sight of Blazing Arrow gave Wharton a knowledge of the situation,and during the few minutes that he was dodging through the trees hetried to decide upon the right course to follow.
They were but a short way from the main trail. This was clearly marked,although it was travelled so little that in many places the overhanginglimbs interfered with one's passage. He believed he could dash alongthis faster than his pursuer, and but for his anxiety about Larry Murphyhe probably would have attempted to do so, but the report of a riflewhich reached his ears a few minutes later deepened his fears andincreased his anxiety.
If he should put forth all the speed of which he was capable, it was notlikely to surpass that of the Shawanoe, who was accustomed to dodgingamong tree trunks. There was little to be gained by speculating at thisstage of the contest, but he concluded to go ahead until the opportunitywas more favorable for turning his own amazing fleetness to account.
Besides, it should be stated that Wharton was not yet certain that hecould beat Blazing Arrow in a contest of speed. The Indian was awonderful runner, and the youth was not certain by any means that thered man would not overhaul him when the test should take place.
"At any rate he has got to do the hardest work of his life before hecaptures my scalp," muttered the lad, compressing his lips and duckingunder a limb which would have caught under his chin if he had neglectedthe precaution.
He headed for the trail, darting a look behind him now and then to notetheir relative speed. As nearly as he could judge, it was about thesame, but as he could not know whether Blazing Arrow was putting forthhis best efforts or not, the knowledge was of little benefit. At themoment of striking the path, Wharton recalled a fact that had slippedhis mind until then. Less than an eighth of a mile in advance the trailcrossed a natural clearing where, for fully a fourth of a mile, not atree or shrub obtruded. Then the two could do their best, and thequestion of supremacy would be decided, providing the red man indulgedin no treachery. Blazing Arrow dropped into the path at a point about ahundred yards behind the fugitive, which was a little more than thespace separating them at the moment of starting.
It was necessary to keep the advantage he possessed, and to gain all hecould before the plain was reached. If Wharton should prove himselfsuperior to the Shawanoe, the latter would resort to his rifle, andeither kill him or wound him so that he could not run. If the fugitivewas the inferior, he must fall into the hands of his enemy; so that, nomatter how it eventuated, the situation of the youth was full of peril.
"I guess I may as well let myself out while I have the chance," thelatter muttered, a moment after striking the trail.
And Wharton proceeded to "let himself out," while Blazing Arrow, theShawanoe, lost no time in doing likewise.
Wharton's aim was to increase the distance between himself and BlazingArrow as much as he possibly could before reaching the clearing, half amile wide, where the way was open and the test of speed would bedecisive.
Within the same moment that he recalled the existence of the clearing hewas dashing along the trail like a terrified deer. This work provedharder than he anticipated. The obtruding branches swished his face withsmarting violence, and more than one twig cut his forehead and nose likethe lash of a whip. He thrust out his hands to ward these aside, andthey hurt his hands.
He kept it up, however, for he was now running for life, and what is tobe compared to such a stake? But these obstructions, despite all hecould do, retarded his progress. The alarming truth quickly becamemanifest that instead of gaining ground, as he had hoped, he was losingit.
"Suppose he can beat me?" was the terrifying thought that almostparalyzed him for the moment; "but," he added, "he hasn't done it yet!"
The Shawanoe did not utter any cry, and he was so far to the rear thatWharton did not hear him as he came along the trail with the grimcertainty of fate. He was a marvellous runner, and he did not mean toallow the detested youth, whose beard was not yet grown, to get awayfrom him.
More than once, while speeding in this fashion, young Edwards askedhimself whether he could elude his enemy by leaping aside or hidingamong the trees. Possibly he might have done it could he have drawnbeyond sight of him for a few minutes only, so that his divergence wouldnot be seen. But just there lay the difficulty, and he dared not makethe attempt.
It was a sight that would have tried the nerves of the bravest man whenhe looked back and caught a glimpse of the Indian warrior, partlyhidden by the brushing limbs and vegetation, as he sped forward like afurious animal, and knew it was a mortal enemy that was after him,impelled by a hatred which nothing but death could quench.
The fugitive determined that for the time he would not look behind him.Almost unconsciously to himself, when he did so, he lost a littleground.
The straining vision which was now cast forward saw the light made bythe clearing or opening in front. A few more bounds and he struck themargin of the space, which for half a mile was as free from trees as astretch of Western prairie. Here was the place for the supreme test, andthe youth, with a muttered prayer, bent all his energies to the task,fully alive to the stake at issue.
Not a breath of air was stirring on this mild summer afternoon, but thewind created by his arrowy-speed was like a gale as it rushed by hisface and lifted the short auburn hair about his neck until it floatedstraight out. The arms were bent at the elbows, the chest thrownforward, while the shapely limbs worked with the swiftness and grace ofa piece of perfect machinery. The feet doubled in and over each otherwith bewildering quickness, there seeming at times to be half a dozen ofthem on the ground, in the air, and to the rear at the same time.
The stride was tremendous. The handsome face of the youth was pale withan unshakable resolve, and the thin lips were compressed, his breathcoming thick and fast through the nostrils. The hazel eyes gleamed andthe brows were knitted as with a person who means to do or die.
Ah, that was a race worth travelling many a mile to see! H
ad SimonKenton, or Daniel Boone, or Anthony McClelland, or the Wetzel brothers,been in that open clearing, they would have stood like statues, wrapt inadmiration and wonder, for never could they have beheld before such amagnificent exhibition of prowess in the way of speed.
Every thrilling element was present, for not far to the rear rushed asix-foot Shawanoe, who, like the youth in advance, strained every muscleto the highest tension. And he was a frightful object as he ran, forhis face was that of a race-horse. The long coarse locks streamed behindhim like a whipping pennant in a hurricane; and one of the stainedeagle-feathers in the crown was snatched loose and fluttered backward.The naturally hideous face was made more so by the red and black patchesdaubed in fantastic splashes over it. The sinewy chest was bare, but thefringes of the parti-colored leggings and moccasins flickered andtwinkled in the sunlight as the Shawanoe thundered across the clearing,his black eyes fixed on the flying figure in front, and his countenancedistorted by a passion his terrible race is so capable of feeling.
As Blazing Arrow ran, he carried the youth's rifle in his right hand. Itwas grasped just in front of the lock, the muzzle pointing ahead, asthough he had but to press the trigger to bring down the fugitivewithout a change of aim. The left hand rested on the knife thrust in hisgirdle, the position of the two hands suggesting that he was thirstingto use both weapons upon the lad whom he sought so desperately to rundown.