He was about to have another example of the tenacity
and resource of the great young chief of the Wyandots, and he
felt a certain anger. He, did not wish to be disturbed in his
plans, he wished to rejoin his comrades and move farther east
toward the chosen lands of the Six Nations; instead, he must
spend precious moments running for his life.
Henry did not now flee toward the camp of his friends. He was
too wise, too unselfish, to bring a horde down upon them, and he
curved away in a course that would take him to the south of them.
He glanced up and saw that the heavens were lightening yet more.
A thin gray color like a mist was appearing in the east. It was
the herald of day, and now the Indians would be able to find his
trail. But Henry was not afraid. His anger over the loss of
time quickly passed, and he ran swiftly on, the fall of his
moccasins making scarcely any noise as be passed.
It was no unusual incident. Thousands of such pursuits occurred
in the border life of our country, and were lost to the
chronicler. For generations they were almost a part of the daily
life of the frontier, but the present, while not out of the
common in itself, had, uncommon phases.
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