Just at that moment Chincho saw something off to the side of the trail, lying half-hidden in the brush. It was brown. As Chincho looked more closely, he saw it moving rhythmically as an animal does in breathing. He touched Maseca lightly on the shoulder and pointed toward the brush. They both realized that this must be the wounded buck. Just as they were trying to decide what to do, the deer made up their minds for them. With a bellow, he leaped from his hiding place and headed straight for Chincho. Chincho stood rooted to the spot with fright. His eyes bulged as he saw the huge beast, his antlers held low in attack, bearing down upon him. Maseca raised his bow, and with all the courage and calmness he could muster, drew back and let go the string. As his arrow whished straight toward the onrushing buck, Maseca knew that his aim had been straight. As the arrow struck, the deer leaped into the air toward Chincho. The buck’s action was so quick that Chincho failed to move in time. As it fell, one of its antlers cut deeply into Chincho’s leg. The boy gasped in pain and slumped to the ground, next to the dead buck. Maseca ran quickly to his side and held his head in his arms. Then he looked down at the nasty wound in Chincho’s leg and saw the blood pouring out. Hurriedly, he gathered some large leaves, wet them in a nearby stream, and placed them against the wound. Then he pulled a leather thong from his leggings and used it to bind the leaves in place. When he saw that the wound had nearly stopped bleeding, he spoke quietly to Chincho. “I must go for help, Chincho. You must lie still and quiet until I return.” With that Maseca pulled up all the strength that was left in his tired body and started running at top speed along the trail he had marked. As the sun sank behind the hills of the quiet valley, Chincho prayed that Maseca would hurry. The pain was getting worse and, though the blood had stopped flowing from the wound, Chincho was beginning to lose strength. Suddenly, from down the trail, the boy heard the voices of many braves. Then he heard his father shouting his name. “Over here! Over here!” Chincho called weakly. His father ran to him and knelt at his son’s side. Soon Chincho was surrounded by many of the older braves who looked first at him and then at the dead buck. He searched among the faces for that of his friend. “Where is Maseca?” he asked his father. “Back in the village resting, my son,” his father said softly. “You see, Maseca ran so fast through the forest to seek help for you that he caught his foot in a root and twisted his leg badly. He wouldn’t stop even though he was barely able to hobble into camp. He had just enough strength left to tell us where you were before he fainted.” Chincho began to feel very guilty about the many times he had hoped that Maseca would be injured some day just because Maseca had beaten him in the foot race.