When he had finished strutting and boasting, No Man trotted off into the woods to get what he needed for the safe accomplishment of the deed which he was still minded to do. And late in the afternoon he crept into a thicket near Strong Hand’s cave and lay in wait.
But this time he had smeared himself from head to foot with moose dung, and he knew that it would take a keener nose than Strong Hand’s to detect him.
Strong Hand had not killed that day, and as he drew near his cave, the strong smell of moose came to him from a thicket on the left of the runway.
Ears and nose twitching and eyes alert he turned cautiously into the thicket. Almost in his face there was a loud twanging jar, and at the same instant a pain like fire darted through his entrails, and he knew that he had been struck to death.
He dropped his spear, and felt foolishly at the little tuft of feathers that had suddenly become attached to him at a point just below the breast bone, and midway between the curling of the ribs.
Then his eyes grew red, and a roar that shook the thicket burst from his lips. He seized his club and rushed forward—and to the right, crouching, sneaking and whimpering with fear he saw No Man running for dear life.
Once more Strong Hand bellowed, and when he heard that bellow No Man screamed, and dropping his bow and arrows, fled with redoubled speed. But Strong Hand was hard after him.
No Man was so frightened that he did not follow the runways and glades of the forest tho’ these were well known to him. He ran aimlessly and without husbanding his strength, slashing into bushes and through them, crashing into thickets of young trees, doubling and running in circles.