The signal
served for a finishing blow to the discussion on the merits of the
bark, the Doctor stepping as promptly to the side of the old man, as
if a mental mist had been miraculously removed from his eyes. In
another instant the steed of the young Pawnee was struggling with the
torrent.
The utmost strength of the horse was needed to urge the fugitives,
beyond the flight of arrows that came sailing through the air, at the
next moment. The cry of Weucha had brought fifty of his comrades to
the shore, but fortunately among them all, there was not one of a rank
sufficient to entitle him to the privilege of bearing a fusee. One
half the stream, however, was not passed, before the form of Mahtoree
himself was seen on its bank, and an ineffectual discharge of firearms
announced the rage and disappointment of the chief. More than once the
trapper had raised his rifle, as if about to try its power on his
enemies, but he as often lowered it, without firing. The eyes of the
Pawnee warrior glared like those of the cougar, at the sight of so
many of the hostile tribe, and he answered the impotent effort of
their chief, by tossing a hand into the air in contempt, and raising
the war-cry of his nation.
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