He had no fear, therefore, when he dropped off the animal’s back, nor did he feel any misgiving because, in the first minute or two, the stallion slightly drew away from him. The youth knew he could run him down, and he meant to do it.
The horse gained until he was fifty feet in advance. The consciousness of his advantage nerved him to the utmost. With head aloft and the sweat showing in foam where the limbs rubbed the body, he kept an eye on the fearful thing he seemed to have shaken off. There he was, a short distance to the rear, and a little to one side. The form slowly receded, but while the horse was doing his best it began to close the gap between them. The brute saw it drawing steadily nearer, with the resistless certainty of fate. The Shawanoe’s feet doubled under him so rapidly that the eye would have found it hard to see the twinkling moccasins. He was doing his very best, and you have been able to form some idea of what _that_ was. Not the least remarkable feature of all was that Deerfoot did not seem to be affected in the least by his terrific exertions. He breathed no faster than when walking, and was capable of keeping up the tremendous run for a time that, were it named, would sound incredible.
Near and nearer drew the dreaded figure, and the stallion, if capable of such an emotion, must have felt the chill of despair creeping through his frame. But it was useless to fight against fate, and he put forth no further effort, even when the pursuer drew up alongside, and, repeating his remarkable bound, once more dropped astride the perspiring body.
Deerfoot now changed his treatment of the exhausted stallion. Instead of speaking sharply and beating his heels against his sides, he patted his neck, rubbed a palm gently down its side and uttered soothing expressions. It was hardly to be expected that the brute would understand this, for it was all new and strange to him, but the fiercest wild animal instinctively knows the difference between brutality and kindness. Something within the horse responded to these advances, and by and by he dropped to a walk and made no effort to unseat or harm his rider.
Deerfoot’s wish was to return to his friends, for they must have been left many miles to the rear, and, though they were quite likely to follow him, they must still be separated from him by a long distance. He therefore tried to turn the stallion the other way. This proved harder than he anticipated. He first drew the nose around, but the animal kept going straight on as before, even with his head awry. Then the youth slipped to the ground, placed himself in front of his charge, and flung up his arms. The stallion stopped, made a motion as if to bite him, and then, frightened by his own temerity, paused. Still he refused to change his course.