When it is remembered that the fact of an old-fashioned flintlock being unloaded is perceptible at a glance, the feature of the mistake is the more remarkable. The discovery threw the youth into something of a panic. He felt as if the venomous old man was about to assail him from among the trees, and, with a quick glance around, made desperate haste to reload the gun. Not until the ball was rammed down the barrel and the powder was in the pan did he breathe freely. "There!" he exclaimed, drawing a sigh of relief, "when I make that blunder again I deserve to be shot, but the laugh is on Blazing Arrow more than on me." Now that he had a trusty weapon in his possession, and the Shawanoe had none, the situation of the latter was like that of a wild beast and a marksman. Could the beast leap unawares upon the marksman he could overcome him, but the latter had only to maintain his watchfulness. Had Blazing Arrow rushed toward the lad after he had found his gun was empty, and before he reloaded it, Wharton's only resource would have been to take again to his heels; for, active and athletic as he was, he could not possibly be a match for the powerful, full-grown warrior, and it would have been foolhardy on his part to take any such risk. The disappearance of the Shawanoe during the brief absence of Wharton was proof that the wily wretch was shamming. His fall had given him a severe shock, but no bones were broken; and had the youth heeded the request to help him to rise he would have snatched him off his feet in a twinkling and had him at his mercy. Whither had he gone? The dread that he might be stealing among the trees in the effort to surprise him caused young Edwards to make a hasty withdrawal from the wood to the open plain which had been the scene of the severest race of his life. When he stood clear of the trees, and beyond reach of any sudden surprise, he breathed freely for the first time. "Now let him come, if he wants to. I can outrun him anyway, but I don't run any more races," added Wharton, glancing down at his gun. The Shawanoe, who was doubtless glaring at him from some point of concealment, must have relied upon cunning to outwit his victim. "I wonder what sort of yarn he will tell his people when he goes back?" mused Wharton. "How will he account for his failure to capture me, and what explanation will he give for the loss of my gun? I suppose he will say he concluded to shoot me, and broke it over my head and flung it away. But if I come out of this trouble they will learn the truth some day."