He was so happy in this thought that he had not noticed how swiftly time passed, and that already the sun stood over his head; neither had he urged Blue Wing to run his swiftest; but that good little animal kept up a steady dog-trot, without, as yet, showing the least sign of being tired.
But what was the sudden noise which was heard behind him? Quickly he turned his head, and, to his horror, he beheld about fifty mounted Crows coming toward him at a run, and swinging in their hands guns, pistols, clubs, and knives!
His old enemy, Iron Bull, was in advance, and under his right arm he carried a long lance, with which he intended to spear Little Moccasin, as a cruel boy spears a bug with a pin.
Moccasin’s heart stood still for a moment with fear; he knew that this time they would surely kill him if caught. He seemed to have lost all power of action.
Nearer and nearer came Iron Bull, shouting at the top of his voice.
But Blue Wing now seemed to understand the danger of Moccasin’s situation; he pricked up his ears, snorted a few times, made several short jumps, to fully arouse Moccasin, who remained paralyzed with fear, and then, like a bird, fairly flew over the prairie, as if his little hoofs were not touching the ground.
Little Moccasin, too, was now awakened to his peril, and he patted and encouraged Blue Wing; while, from time to time, he looked back over his shoulder to watch the approach of Iron Bull.
Thus they went, on and on; over ditches and streams, rocks and hills, through gulches and valleys. Blue Wing was doing nobly, but the pace could not last forever.
Iron Bull was now only about five hundred yards behind and gaining on him.
Little Moccasin felt the cold sweat pouring down his face. He had no fire-arm, or he would have stopped to shoot at Iron Bull.