The
Unfortunate Trapper Was Too Well Acquainted With Indian Customs
Not To Comprehend The Drift Of The Question.
He knew he was to
run for his life, to furnish a kind of human hunt to his
persecutors.
Though in reality he was noted among his brother
hunters for swiftness of foot, he assured the chief that he was a
very bad runner. His stratagem gained him some vantage ground. He
was led by the chief into the prairie, about four hundred yards
from the main body of savages, and then turned loose to save
himself if he could. A tremendous yell let him know that the
whole pack of bloodhounds were off in full cry. Colter flew
rather than ran; he was astonished at his own speed; but he had
six miles of prairie to traverse before he should reach the
Jefferson Fork of the Missouri; how could he hope to hold out
such a distance with the fearful odds of several hundred to one
against him! The plain, too, abounded with the prickly pear,
which wounded his naked feet. Still he fled on, dreading each
moment to hear the twang of a bow, and to feel an arrow quivering
at his heart. He did not even dare to look round, lest he should
lose an inch of that distance on which his life depended. He had
run nearly half way across the plain when the sound of pursuit
grew somewhat fainter, and he ventured to turn his head. The main
body of his pursuers were a considerable distance behind; several
of the fastest runners were scattered in the advance; while a
swift-footed warrior, armed with a spear, was not more than a
hundred yards behind him.
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