No sooner was their intention evident than a new burst of wild yells told that the Indians were in hot pursuit. High above the fiendish cries Dick could hear the heavier voices of the two treacherous white men, and he knew that Lascelles and Waller must be keeping in the van of their pursuers. The boys might have turned and tried to frighten the Indians off by a second shot, but it would be losing precious time, and every second must count when their lives hung in the balance. The boys were clever runners, and under ordinary conditions might have been able to keep well ahead of the fleet-footed Indians. There was one unfortunate thing, however, that promised to hamper them sadly, and it concerned Roger's ability to keep up the pace. Several days before, almost a week in fact, he had turned his ankle, and had ever since complained of feeling it pain him from time to time, especially if he gave that foot any sort of a wrench. He had not taken a score of leaps when his toe chanced to catch in a root, and, while the boy did not measure his length on the ground, he did feel a sharp pain shoot through that weak ankle. It made his heart sink to realize that he was bound to feel it worse with every bound he took, and that in the end it might be the means of their downfall. Dick had kept close to the river-bank in his flight. He did this for several good reasons. In the first place, they had come that way, and knew the ground more or less. Then, again, the camp lay up the river, and, if help was to meet them part way, they must head straight for the boats. He was inclined at first to try to shout, in the expectation that those in camp would come to their assistance the faster; but, on second thought, he realized it would only be wasting his breath. Surely they must have heard the sound of Roger's rifle, and those wild whoops bursting on their ears soon afterwards would tell their friends what had happened. He fully believed Captain Clark would sally forth with some of the men, bent on attempting their rescue. It was only a question of keeping ahead of their persistent pursuers long enough to allow the others to come up. "Faster, Roger, faster!" Roger heard his comrade say this and he strove his utmost to obey, but the injured ankle was giving him more trouble every second and, despite his efforts, he failed to keep up to his usual standard of speed. "My ankle--I've hurt it again!" he called out, between his set teeth. Dick heard this with a thrill of horror. It seemed to seal their fate, for, if they could not increase their speed, the Indians were bound to overtake them long before any help might arrive. He tried to catch hold of Roger's arm, as though his first thought was to render assistance; but that was impossible when running as they were. Roger indeed shook himself free. "Save yourself, Dick! I'm nearly done for!" he exclaimed.