Page:Barbour--Metipoms Hostage.djvu/166

152 died, for the first Indian was coming straight toward his hiding-place, his black eyes aglitter and his thin mouth curved in a snarling  grin. They were closing in on him, front and back, and flight was useless. Yet to be taken without an effort was not in his mind,  and, leaping to his feet, he brushed past the  branches that had hidden him and sprang  onto the trail. There was a cry from the savage nearest at hand, but David heeded it  not, but fled fast, his weariness forgotten.

And yet he knew that he could not hope to elude his pursuers. Even as he sped around the turn of the trail, he heard the  patter of skin-clad feet behind him and  thought to feel the blow of a thrown tomahawk each instant. Some sixty paces he made ere disaster came. Then a tired foot failed to lift itself above a sprawling root and  the boy crashed forward and went rolling  over and over into the bushes. Jarred and confused, he strove to regain his feet,  but the first of his foes was beside him. A snarling copper-hued face glared down at  him and a knife was poised above his heart.

David saw and yielded. “Netop!” he gasped. The Indian grunted and pressed the point of the knife closer, and the