"Well, then, we must leave her," agreed Running Fox.
As they moved across the long stretch of open ground they kept sharp watch behind them. The moonlight made it possible to see for a considerable distance, and they expected at any moment to discover a company of Shawnees following rapidly on their trail. They heard a bedlam of confused sounds from the camp, and had little doubt that the Shawnees were gathered in noisy council to plan some wily stratagem which might turn their chagrin into joy.
"I believe it will be hard to get away from those people," Running Fox said, uneasily. "They are very mad because we fooled them, I believe they will try to catch us."
Spotted Deer struggled along in silence. His limbs were stiff and swollen as the result of the tight binding to which he had been subjected in the Shawnee camp. Each stride caused him agony, but he made no mention of his suffering. Several times, however, he lurched against Running Fox, and at last the latter guessed that something was wrong.
"Hi, I see you are falling around," he said anxiously. "Did the Shawnees hurt you?"
"It is my legs," Spotted Deer said, lightly. "The Shawnees gave me the legs of an old man."
Running Fox grew thoughtful. He understood the plight of his friend, and it filled him with alarm. He feared that Spotted Deer might be unable to make the long, swift journey to the Delaware camp. Spotted Deer seemed to have guessed his thoughts.
"Do not be afraid," he said. "I will keep going."
"You are brave," said Running Fox.
They were nearing the timber along the base of the ridge when they suddenly heard the shrill, piercing scream of Nianque, the lynx. It seemed to have come from the camp. They stopped to listen. It filled them with dread.