The bushes, undergrowth and logs which obstructed his path, were as troublesome to his pursuers as to himself, and he bounded over them like a mountain chamois, leaping from crag to crag.
There can be no question that, if this contest had been decided by the relative swiftness of foot on the part of pursuer and pursued, the latter would have escaped without difficulty, but, as if the fates were against the brave Shawanoe, his matchless limbs were no more than fairly going, when two Wyandot warriors appeared directly in front in such a position that it was impossible to avoid them.
Deerfoot made a wrenching turn to the right, as if he meant to flank them, but he stumbled, nearly recovered himself—then fell with great violence, turning a complete somersault from his own momentum, and then rose to his feet, as the Indians in front and rear closed around him.
He uttered a suppressed exclamation of pain, limped a couple of steps, and then grasped a tree to sustain himself. He seemed to have sprained his ankle badly and could bear his weight only on one foot. No more disastrous termination of the flight could have followed.
The Wyandots gathered about the poor fugitive with many expressions of pleasure, for the pursuers had just been forced to believe the young brave was likely to escape them, and it was a delightful surprise when the two appeared in front and headed him off.
Besides, a man with a sprained ankle is the last one in the world to indulge in a foot-race, and they felt secure, therefore, in holding their prisoner.
"Dog! traitor! serpent with the forked tongue! base son of a brave chieftain! warrior with the white heart!"
These were a few of the expressions applied to the captive, who made no answer. In fact, he seemed to be occupied exclusively with his ankle, for, while they were berating him, he stooped over and rubbed it with both hands, flinging his long bow aside, as though it could be of no further use to him.
The epithets were enough to blister the skin of the ordinary American Indian, and there came a sudden flush to the dusky face of the youthful brave, when he heard himself called the base son of a brave chieftain. But he had learned to conquer himself, and he uttered not a word in response.
One of the Wyandots picked up the bow which the captive had thrown aside, and examined it with much curiosity. There was no attempt to disarm him of his knife and tomahawk, for had he not been disabled by the sprained ankle, he would have been looked upon as an insignificant prisoner, against whom it was cowardly to take any precautions. In fact, to remove his weapons that remained would have been giving dignity to one too contemptible to deserve the treatment of an ordinary captive.