"The pale-faces will come to the help of Deerfoot, for who has been a better friend to them than he?"
These and similar taunts fell upon ears which appeared to hear them not. Those who uttered the cruel words came close to the youth and peered into his face, with hideous grimaces, but he stood calm and silent. He was a shade paler, and there was a strange gleam in his black eyes, but he looked beyond his tormentors at Waughtauk, who deliberately paced off the distance, giving liberal measure, as it is only justice to record.
When the fifty steps had been taken, Waughtauk stopped, stamped the heel of his moccasin in the earth, and, turning about, beckoned to Deerfoot to approach. The young Shawanoe, as he hobbled painfully forward, presented a spectacle which ought to have excited the pity of the hardest heart; but the Wyandots laughed and were impatient for the contest, if such it may be called, to open.
Deerfoot limped the greater part of the distance and then stopped to rest a moment, seemingly unable to advance another step. Several taunting exclamations followed this display of weakness, and, summoning his energies, the youth resumed his labored advance, finally reached the side of Waughtauk, who concealed, as well as he could, his impatience.
"Deerfoot will stand here," said he, pointing to the indentation the heel of his moccasin had made in the ground; "when he hears Waughtauk give forth the war-whoop of the Wyandots, he will teach my warriors how to run."
The young Shawanoe opened his lips to make answer, but they closed more tightly than before, and not a word was uttered. His self-restraint was perfect.
Waughtauk walked back to the edge of the Long Clearing, where the six warriors eagerly awaited the signal for the sport to begin. Despite the usual stoicism and indifference of their race, the braves were as frolicsome as so many school-boys. They elbowed and crowded each other for their places, and one or two vigorous wrestling bouts occurred, before the chieftain placed them in line.
At last the six Wyandots were drawn up in position, one foot thrown forward, while they swayed restlessly back and forth, inching along the advanced foot, like so many runners eager for the slightest advantage. Each carried his knife and tomahawk at his girdle, but the arms were free. He who claimed the bow of Deerfoot had thrown it aside, now that he was about to run.
Waughtauk looked at his men and then he placed himself in alignment at their right. He still held his loaded gun, probably as an emblem of his authority, and as a notification that he would use it in the event of any warrior disregarding orders.
The seven now looked out upon the Long Clearing at the fugitive who was to go through this mockery of a race with the sinewy-limbed Wyandots, eager and thirsting for his life.