Fortunately, the forest hereabouts was a wondrous primeval growth of tall-stemmed, widely-spaced trunks. There was little underbrush, and the ground was carpeted with a deep, springy layer of vegetable mould, the easiest footing for a runner. The light was sifted high overhead by the interlacing boughs, and it was impossible to see distinctly at any distance. The odds seemed reasonably in our favor, despite the continuous whooping at our heels, and I was amazed when Tawannears came to an abrupt halt after we had run a scant half-hour.
"They will be scattered," he said in explanation to my look of inquiry. "We will teach them that they are not dealing with young deer-hunters like themselves. Do you run on a score of strides, Otetiani, and Corlaer as many more. I will fire when I see a target, and flee. Then you will each fire in turn, and run. That way the two in the rear will have had time to reload. Come, brothers, we will scotch these young men who think our scalps as easy to take as a deer's antlers."
Corlaer grunted approval, and we two held to our course. I halted behind a great oak from which I could barely discern the figure of Tawannears lurking behind an uprooted elm. Five minutes passed. The yelping of our enemies had died away. Young hounds they might be, but it was in their blood to save breath once they had their noses on a green trail. Suddenly, I saw a stab of flame in the gloom, and Tawannears darted toward me, musket in hand. The crash of his shot was followed by a yelp of agony, and once more the silence of the forest reëchoed the eerie war-whoop.
"Watch carefully, brother," the Seneca muttered as he loped past.
I lifted my musket and waited, eyes darting right and left, striving to pierce the depths of the shadow-world that was unflecked by a single ray of sunlight. I stared so long that my eye muscles wearied, and the lids blinked. I closed them for a moment's rest, and when I reopened them the first thing I was conscious of seeing was a shadow darker than the shadows, that flitted between two tree-trunks on my left. He was so close that I thought I must have been deceived, but whilst I watched he showed again, and I made out the slanting feather above his crouching form. I aimed a good foot below the feather, and pulled trigger. The Shawnee leaped high in air, with a throttled cry, and pitched forward on his face. I ran.
"Goodt," murmured Corlaer, huddled behind a boulder that showed moss-covered amongst the timber.
I sped on, and halted only when Tawannears' low voice reached my ears.
"Reload," he said briefly. "We must run again when Corlaer comes. The dogs are swifter than I thought. Hear them!"
He inclined his ear to the left rear, and I heard distinctly the interchange of signal-yells, once even a distant crashing of branches. The Shawnees were working around in an attempt to head us off. I was relieved when Corlaer'a musket boomed, and the Dutchman's huge body bounded into view. He ran as lightly as he did everything else. The man was a swift runner who could keep up with him.
"Now, speed, brothers," said Tawannears. "The next effort tells."