As the white spectators were scarcely more than fifty yards distant from the lists, they could now distinctly see everything that took place.
Hare, catching sight of them through the opening that had been made, beckoned to them eagerly to come nearer.
Buffalo Bill alone attempted to comply, but when he advanced about halfway he was stopped by loud cries and angry gestures from the Indians.
Thinking still of the women and the danger of provoking a conflict, he went no nearer.
The prisoner was stationed with his back against a tree, and the nearest of his watchful foes were about six feet from him, they being two lads of sixteen or seventeen years at the head of the line. They were evidently anxious to bring him down at the very outset of his course.
They did not look in any way wrathful, Buffalo Bill thought. They even exchanged nods and smiles now and then, while they waited for the “sport” to begin; but as the starting moment drew nearer there was an eager, intent look on their faces, like that of hunters when the deer is breaking cover.
Running Water was seated at the end of the ground at the lower end of the lists, where he could command a view of the race and see that no rule of the course was violated. By him, also, the signal for the start was to be given.
One who acted as a sort of marshal rode along the lines to see that every man was in his proper place.
Half a minute later the starting signal was given by the chief rising to his feet and clapping his hands loudly. Before he had struck them twice together the prisoner sprang forward with an unexpected velocity that carried him past the first half dozen of his enemies unharmed, while their swift blows fell upon the empty air.