They must have attempted rushing him, thinking his rifle was empty; for he fired again, and once more gave voice to his war-cry. Then the old eternal quiet of the forest dropped back in place. Until I heard a Shawnee scalp-cry I could rest easy as to my companion. I slipped into the trace and mounted, and pushed ahead. The Indians were abreast of me and there was the danger of their cutting into the trace ahead. That they had not followed at my heels made me believe they were concentrating all their energies on making a surround and killing, or capturing their much feared enemy. They would prefer to dance Cousin's scalp than to dance a dozen of men of my caliber. There were no more shots up the ridge, and I found it hard to decide just what gait I should permit my horse to take. I could not leave the boy behind, nor did I care to risk being intercepted. I was worrying my mind into a fine stew over this point when the bushes stirred ahead. I dropped to the ground behind the horse, but it was young Cousin. He motioned for me to hurry. "You dodged them!" I said. "Black Hoof's band. They're hard to dodge," he whispered, striding rapidly along and swinging his head from side to side. "How far to the Grisdol cabin?" "Two miles." "Then ride for it. I'll run at your stirrup. We'll need that cabin if it ain't been burned. I 'low it'll be a close race." There was no sign of pursuit. I was no novice in Indian warfare, but in this instance I scarcely believed the Shawnees would draw near enough to make the chase interesting. So far as I could observe Cousin had succeeded in stealing away from them, and there was no Indian who could overtake him, especially if he ran at my stirrup. "They've took four sculps on this side the valley," he murmured as he loped along at my side. "I bagged three on 'em. You fetched one. Black Hoof is too big a chief to call it quits. He's back there leadin' the chase. So I 'low it'll be close." A curious little thrill chilled my spine. Catahecassa, or Black Hoof, was one of the most redoubtable and resourceful savages to be found in the Shawnee nation. If below Cornstalk's intellectual plane he made up for much of any such discrepancy by his fiery courage and deep cunning. The long-drawn howl of a wolf sounded up the slope on our left and was soon answered by a similar call directly in our rear. For a third time the signal menaced us, on our right and at a considerable distance. "They're still scoutin' the ridge for me," murmured Cousin, his lean face turning to the left. "The heft of 'em are comin' along the trace behind us. Those over to the right are hustlin' to find out what's up. We must git along faster!"