The alternating slackening and bursts of speed were kept up till finally the sorely pressed animal was unable to respond. After several brave but useless efforts he ceased the attempt. He had done his best and could do no more. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER X WHIRLWIND. DEERFOOT waited till sure of the exhaustion of the stallion. Then while he was still galloping in his tired way, he slipped from his back and, dropping to the ground, began running beside him. The instant the horse felt himself free of his master he dashed off at the highest bent of his speed, as if determined to be rid of the dreaded one at whatever cost. You know what a wonderful runner the young Shawanoe was, and he now put forth every ounce of energy at his command. The sight was thrilling. The incomparable youth was making a race with the black stallion, and the exhibition was marvelous. Ah, if you could have been there with a camera to take a snapshot of the struggle! Now, no man ever lived who could outrun a blooded or trained horse. It would be absurd for me to pretend that the Shawanoe youth, with all his marvelous fleetness, could outspeed a wild animal like the black stallion. It would have been idiotic for him to attempt it, unless his rival was so handicapped that a marked advantage rested with the biped. I have shown that Deerfoot possessed that advantage in the fatigue of the steed. Moreover, as I have made clear in another story concerning the young Shawanoe, he was able to keep up the exertion longer than a horse, and had proved it by running one down when each started fresh. He had no fear, therefore, when he dropped off the animal’s back, nor did he feel any misgiving because, in the first minute or two, the stallion slightly drew away from him. The youth knew he could run him down, and he meant to do it. The horse gained until he was fifty feet in advance. The consciousness of his advantage nerved him to the utmost. With head aloft and the sweat showing in foam where the limbs rubbed the body, he kept an eye on the fearful thing he seemed to have shaken off. There he was, a short distance to the rear, and a little to one side. The form slowly receded, but while the horse was doing his best it began to close the gap between them. The brute saw it drawing steadily nearer, with the resistless certainty of fate. The Shawanoe’s feet doubled under him so rapidly that the eye would have found it hard to see the twinkling moccasins. He was doing his very best, and you have been able to form some idea of what _that_ was. Not the least remarkable feature of all was that Deerfoot did not seem to be affected in the least by his terrific exertions. He breathed no faster than when walking, and was capable of keeping up the tremendous run for a time that, were it named, would sound incredible.