The clear sun made forest and river vivid in its light. The Indians, after their first cry, made no sound, but so powerful were Long Jim and Tom that they were gaining but little, although some of the boats contained six or eight rowers. As the light grew more intense Henry made out the two white faces in the first boat. One was that of Braxton Wyatt, and the other, he was quite sure, belonged to the infamous Walter Butler. Hot anger swept through all his veins, and the little pulses in his temples began to beat like trip hammers. Now the picture of Wyoming, the battle, the massacre, the torture, and Queen Esther wielding her great tomahawk on the bound captives, grew astonishingly vivid, and it was printed blood red on his brain. The spirit of anger and defiance, of a desire to taunt those who had done such things, leaped up in his heart. “Are you there, Braxton Wyatt?” he called clearly across the intervening water. “Yes, I see that it is you, murderer of women and children, champion of the fire and stake, as savage as any of the savages. And it is you, too, Walter Butler, wickeder son of a wicked father. Come a little closer, won't you? We've messengers here for both of you!” He tapped lightly the barrel of his own rifle and that of Shif'less Sol, and repeated his request that they come a little closer. They understood his words, and they understood, also, the significant gesture when he patted the barrel of the rifles. The hearts of both Butler and Wyatt were for the moment afraid, and their boat dropped back to third place. Henry laughed aloud when he saw. The Viking rage was still upon him. This was the primeval wilderness, and these were no common foes. “I see that you don't want to receive our little messengers,” he cried. “Why have you dropped back to third place in the line, Braxton Wyatt and Walter Butler, when you were first only a moment ago? Are you cowards as well as murderers of women and children?” “That's pow'ful good talk,” said Shif'less Sol admiringly. “Henry, you're a real orator. Give it to 'em, an' mebbe I'll get a chance at one o' them renegades.” It seemed that Henry's words had an effect, because the boat of the renegades pulled up somewhat, although it did not regain first place. Thus the chase proceeded down the Susquehanna. The Indian fleet was gaining a little, and Shif'less Sol called Henry's attention to it. “Don't you think I'd better take a shot at one o' them rowers in the first boat?” he said to Henry. “Wyatt an' Butler are a leetle too fur away.” “I think it would give them a good hint, Sol!” said Henry. “Take that fellow on the right who is pulling so hard.”