Seth Jones; or, The Captives of the Frontier

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

As he heard their yells, he bounded forward almost at the top of his speed. The pursuers, however, maintained the same regular and rapid motion. Graham continued his exertions for about half a mile, making such use of his arms and limbs as to give the impression that he was doing his utmost. Toward the latter part of the first mile, his speed began to slacken, and his dangling limbs and furtive glances behind him, would have convinced any one that he was nigh exhausted.

But this was only a stratagem, and it succeeded as well as he could have wished. The Indians believed that he had committed a common and fatal error—that of calling into play the utmost strength and speed of which he was master at the outset, and that he was now wearied out, while they themselves were just warming into the glow of the chase. Seeing this, each sent up a shout of exultation, and darted ahead at the top of his speed, each endeavoring to reach and tomahawk him before his companion.

But their surprise was unbounded when they saw the fugitive shoot ahead with the velocity of a race-horse, while his veins, too, were only filling with the hot blood of exertion. They saw this and they saw, too, that should such speed continue long, he would be far beyond their reach, and all now ran as they never ran before.

We say Graham’s stratagem succeeded. It did, and it gave him the knowledge he wished. It showed him that he had met his match! His pursuers, at least one or two of them, were nearly as fleet as was he; and, although he might distance them for a time, yet ere half the race was finished he would inevitably lose the vantage ground!

Could one have stood and gazed upon this race of life, he would have seen a thrilling scene. Far ahead, over a vast plain, a fugitive white man was flying, and his swift steady gait showed that his limbs were well-trained and were now put to their severest test. As his feet doubled with such quickness beneath him as to be almost invisible, the ground glided like a panorama from under them.

Behind were a half-dozen savages, their gleaming visages distorted with the passions of exultation, vengeance, and doubt, their garments flying in the wind, and their strength pressed to its utmost bounds. They were scattered at different distances from each other, and were spreading over the prairie, so as to cut off the fugitive’s escape in every direction.

Two Indians maintained their places side by side, and it was evident that the pursuit would soon be left to them. The others were rapidly falling behind, and were already relaxing their exertions. Graham saw the state of things, and it thrilled him with hope. Could he not distance these also? Would they not leave him in such a case? And could he not escape ere he was compelled to give out from exhaustion?

“At any rate I will try, and God help me!” he uttered, prayerfully, shooting ahead with almost superhuman velocity. He glanced back and saw his followers, and they seemed almost standing still, so rapidly did he leave them behind.

But as nature compelled him to again cease the terrific rate at which he was going, he saw his unwearied pursuers again recovering their lost ground. The parties now understood each other. The Indians saw his maneuvers, and avoided the trap, and kept on in the same unremitting relentless speed, fully certain that this would sooner or later compel him to yield; while Graham knew that the only chance of prolonging the contest rested in his dropping into and continuing his ordinary speed.