whoops sounded, Colter was away with the dash of an antelope. He bounded and ran until his lungs burned within him, and he ruptured a blood vessel in his nose. On he sped, mile after mile, until the chorus of Indian yells grew fainter and fainter. All of Colter’s muscles cried out for a moment’s respite. He looked around and beheld a spear-armed warrior some twenty yards behind him, coming fast to split him in two. Upon impulse, Colter whirled in his tracks, and running obliquely, gave the signal for mercy. The reply was a thrust spear, but the brave made a false step, stumbled, and fell. He was obviously astonished at Colter’s gory appearance. The badly launched spear struck in the ground and was broken off. In a surge of hope and strength, the powerful Colter lunged like a stag at bay, and overpowering the Indian, he seized the barbed half and impaled his fallen foe to the earth! If the Blackfeet had possessed a spirit of chivalry they would have called quits to this ordeal by running and combat. Here was a man who had outrun the cream of the redskin sprinters and, unarmed, had slain an armed warrior. Surely such a performance should have won the captive’s freedom. But the Blackfoot code made no allowance for heroic behavior in the enemy. On came the braves, more ruddy than usual by reason of their exertions and more fleet than normal because of the caliber of the quarry. Colter needed no spear now; he fairly vaulted until he gained the river bank, and diving into the stream he concealed himself under a jam of driftwood or beaver dam that impinged upon an island. Here he secreted himself while they howled and thrashed about for hours, yelling, as Colter said, “like a legion of devils.” When darkness came, like an angel of mercy, he dragged his aching body from its watery prison, silently swam across the river, and started the second excruciating lap in his race for life.[55] Manuel Lisa’s Fort was two hundred miles away. After seven days of hiding and nights of painful travel and exposure he found his way through Bozeman Pass and eventually reached the fort at the mouth of the Bighorn. During this “ordeal by travel” he had no sustenance other than roots known as _psoralea esculenta_, or sheep sorrel.[56] Again there was momentary disposition among the trappers to question Colter’s veracity, but the evidence was unimpeachable, and it was written plainly where all might see. He seemed only a shadow of his former self. According to James, even this terrible experience did not daunt the lion-hearted trapper, “Dangers seemed to have for him a kind of fascination.”[57] Colter could not reconcile himself to the loss of the traps he had dropped in the river during the attack. Soon after his recovery, he ventured again into the forbidden Three Forks region. At his first night’s camp he was attacked, but he contrived to escape. Whereupon, he vowed to his maker that he would never return.[58]