It seemed that he could not escape from so complete a
trap, and Braxton Wyatt was not one who would spare a prisoner.
That was perhaps the bitterest thing of all, to be taken and
tortured by Braxton Wyatt. He was there. He could hear his
voice in one of the bands, and then the courage that never failed
him burst into fire again.
The Iroquois were coming toward him, shutting him out from
retreat to either right or left, but not yet closing in because
of his deadly rifle. He gave them a single look, put forth his
voice in one great cry of defiance, and, rushing toward the edge
of the mighty cliff, sprang boldly over.
As Henry plunged downward he heard behind him a shout of
amazement and chagrin poured forth from many Iroquois throats,
and, taking a single glance backward, he caught a glimpse of
dusky faces stamped with awe. But the bold youth had not made a
leap to destruction. In the passage of a second he had
calculated rapidly and well. While the cliff at first glance
seemed perpendicular, it could not be so. There was a slope
coated with two feet of snow, and swinging far back on the heels
of his snowshoes, he shot downward like one taking a tremendous
slide on a toboggan.
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