of things, however, that Long should overtake the fugitive, who was
more accustomed to making his way through such obstructions. The first
burst of pursuit caused the white man to believe he would win in the
strange race, but the next minute he saw he was losing ground.

Determined that the wretch should not escape, he checked his pursuit
for an instant, and, bringing his Winchester to his shoulder, let fly.

But brief as was his halt, it give the savage time to make one terrific
bound which shut him almost from sight, and rendered the hasty aim of
Long so faulty that his intended victim was not so much as scratched.

Had the savage dashed deeper into the forest, he would have passed
beyond all peril at this moment, but he was seeking to do that which
Long did not discover until after discharging his gun. He headed
toward the river, where he was first seen. It must have been that he
was actuated by a desire to go to the help of his comrade, or more
likely he was anxious to recover his javelin, in which he placed
unbounded faith, and believed he could do it without undue risk.

Whatever his purpose, he quickly burst from the forest, while Long, who
was pushing furiously after him, discovered from the increasing light
in front, that he was close to the Xingu again.

Suspecting his purpose, the white man tore forward at the most reckless
speed, and, before the native could recover his weapon and dart back to
cover, he himself had dashed into the moonlight.

"Now, we've got him!" he shouted; "there's no getting away _this_ time!"