Not if he knew it!
It was little wonder if the lad felt his blood run cold as he listened to the Indian's vaunt, and it is little wonder that his head swam until he was near in reality to the very faintness that he had assumed.
But real pluck is never subdued for long. The very threat was enough to rouse a strong determination to thwart the brutal intention, and his mental decision was that which we have just recorded in the third person: "Not if I know it!"
Red Fox had quite forgotten about the ermine robe. That was quite Indian-like. The object of the moment was all that he cared about. To gain that aim he would have sacrificed a thousand robes of costliest fur—nay, even life itself, if he could have the satisfaction of vengeance first.
Guiding the broncho by the swaying of his body and the occasional use of a halter-rope, the redskin did not permit the animal to slacken speed for an instant.
Once, owing to the stillness of his burden, he drew aside a portion of the blanket to look at the boy's face.
He saw that the eyes were closed, and a fear came into his heart that perhaps he was to be robbed of his pleasure after all.
But the lips trembled, and, on bending down the Indian could hear the sound of breathing.
"Huh!" he laughed, as he replaced the cloth. "That good! Pale-face—he sleep, but he wake soon when Red Fox make sign of totem. Then white boy laugh not again at Indian. Red Fox, he laugh at hideous white boy."
A peal of harsh, savage laughter rang through the woods at this delicious humour, and startled the horse so that it strained harder in the gallop.