And yet, even in the moment of his seeming triumph, an accident occurred that threatened to prove fatal to Lightfoot. He had not run fifty yards after leaving the open when his foot struck a stub or projecting root, hurling him violently against a log. He lay as he had fallen, motionless, senseless, as if dead.
No longer yelling, but listening eagerly for the sound of footfalls, the savages rushed on, knowing that, by pausing to hearken, their last hope of overtaking the fugitive would be banished. On they dashed, scrambling over the fallen tree brushing unconsciously past their senseless foe, even casting a shower of decaying leaves upon his body, so narrowly did they miss him.
For fully an hour Lightfoot lay there, like one dead. But then consciousness gradually returned, and he struggled to a sitting posture, still clutching the limb that had broken short in his hand when he fell. Slowly recollection came to him, and he recalled the events of that night; but clearer than all these, a golden-haired woman stood out before his mental vision, appealing to him for assistance.
This thought seemed to put new life into his veins, and he sprung lightly to his feet. His brain throbbed violently, and he glided to the edge of the open ground, and peered keenly forth. Not a living soul was to be seen. The moon now shone clear and brightly. A stiff breeze was blowing. After a swift glance around, Lightfoot glided out from the shadow, and began recrossing the natural meadow.
He was returning to the Osage village!
It seemed a foolhardy act, but the chief firmly resolved to again enter the village, to rescue Yellow-hair, if it lay in his power. He felt assured that she was there—that the captive brought in by Seth Grable was none other than Edith Mordaunt.
He was not acting without due reflection. The deed would be easier on that night than any succeeding one, for several reasons. Nearly, if not quite all of the braves had set forth in pursuit of himself and friends. Even if not, they would scarce suspect a second attempt, after the first having so nearly proven fatal. Nothing would be further from their minds than that he would again venture into the village. For these reasons Lightfoot resolved to make the attempt. He had vowed eternal fidelity to Yellow-hair; he had abandoned his people because of her—he would save her from the White Wolf's fangs, though it should cost his life.
Across the meadow he glided. In this lay his greatest danger. It was not likely that the Osages had yet given over searching for him. Were any of them gazing out upon the meadow, they must see him.
Nearing the other side, he slackened his pace. When within arrow-shot, he turned abruptly to the right, and ran at full speed for several hundred yards, then darted into the woods. By this move he hoped to escape any ambush that might have been laid for him. Yet no sound gave token that such was the case, as he hastened on through the forest.
Ten minutes later he stood gazing out upon the Osage village. The fires were still smoldering, a few forms could be seen, but the place was very quiet. Evidently the warriors had not yet returned.