black horse
leading, the Cayuse riders close behind, their long hair outstreaming, their moccasins pressed against their horses sides, their whips falling without mercy. Down a canyon they swept in pursuit and passed from the ken of the watchers at the camp, the black horse still in the van.
But it could not cope with the fresh horses of the Cayuses, and they gained steadily. At last the pur suers came within bowshot, but they did not shoot; the fugitive knew too well the reason why. Woe unto him if he fell alive into their hands! He leaned low along his horse s neck, chanting a weird refrain as if charming it to its utmost speed, and ever and anon looked back with that heart- shaking shout of defiance. But steadily his pursuers gained on him; and one, outstripping the rest, rode alongside and reached out to seize his rein. Even as he touched it, the Ban nock s war-club swung in air and the Cayuse reeled dead from his saddle. A howl of rage burst from the others, a whoop of exultation from the fugitive.
But at length his horse s breath grew short and broken, he felt its body tremble as it ran, and his enemies closed in around him.
Thrice the war-club rose and fell, thrice was a saddle emptied; but all in vain. Quickly his horse was caught, he was dragged from the saddle and bound hand and foot.
He was thrown across a horse and brought back to the village. What a chorus of triumph went up from the camp, when it was seen that they were bringing him back! It was an ominous sound, with something of wolfish ferocity in it. But the Bannock only smiled
