This time he did not fall; but in trying to run he limped stiffly
at first, his legs but slowly and imperfectly regaining their
strength and suppleness from the action. Just before reaching the
lines, however, he stopped short. Long-Hair, who was close behind
him, took hold of his shoulder and led him back to the starting
place. The big Indian's arm must have given him pain when he thus
used it, but he did not wince. "Fool--kill dead!" he repeated two
or three times, holding his tomahawk on high with threatening
motions and frequent repetitions of his one echo from the
profanity of civilization. He was beginning to draw his mouth down
at the corners, and his eyes were narrowed to mere slits.
Beverley understood now that he could not longer put off the
trial. He must choose between certain death and the torture of the
gauntlet, as frontiersmen named this savage ordeal. An old man
might have preferred the stroke of the hatchet to such an
infliction as the clubs must afford, considering that, even after
all the agony, his captivity and suffering would be only a little
nearer its end. Youth, however, has faith in the turn of fortune's
wheel, and faith in itself, no matter how dark the prospect. Hope
blows her horn just over the horizon, and the strain bids the
young heart take courage and beat strong. Moreover, men were men,
who led the van in those days on the outmost lines of our march to
the summit of the world.
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