The distance was short, and he was sure to gain a good start at the beginning; but his main reliance was upon his being recognized by his friends, who would cover his flight.

Having decided upon this course, he did not delay its execution a moment, since delay foreboded so much.
Breathing a prayer to heaven to guide him safely, he drew in a deep breath, and, leaping full into the moonlit space, started through his fiery gauntlet.
For a second or two the tomb-like silence continued, and then he heard several hoarse, crow-like calls, which he knew were made by the Apaches.
Then came several rifle reports, but he was not injured.

It showed, however, that his flight had been discovered.

Fred had nothing to do, however, but to run, and he put on the utmost speed to which he could force himself, straining every nerve in the hope of making the log-house, which seemed to recede as he advanced.
Silence succeeded the shots and shouts, and the heart of the young fugitive was throbbing with a wild hope, when a noise caused him to look over his shoulder.

To his horror, he perceived an Indian runner on foot, and within a dozen feet, bearing down upon him with the speed of the wind.