Dick knew that the odds were against him, but he was never more cool or self-possessed in his life.
He had been in a good many snug places before.
With wondrous rapidity he reloaded his rifle, and before it was accomplished a bullet whistled in unpleasant proximity to his ear.
To remain where he was until he was surrounded by the red-skins was no part of his plan. His only safety lay in flight. The only red-skin close upon him could not harm him now, for the barrel of his rifle was empty. With a bound he sprung from behind the tree and fled away.
He got a glimpse of the red-skin reloading his rifle, and had he been so minded he could have sent a bullet through his heart. But he did not care to do it. He wished to keep it against a time when it would do him a better service.
Ill-shaped and deformed as he was, it was wonderful how fast he got over the ground.
His steps were rather bounds than strides, and could a stranger have looked upon him as he fled away through the forest they would have said that it was a wild beast instead of a human being.
With fleet steps, straining every nerve in the race, the red-skins came after him.
But they stood but a poor chance of overtaking him. Their swiftest runners were no match for him in this respect.
He knew that as soon as the sun went down and the twilight came on he was safe.