He ran more swiftly, in order to overtake them and give them battle sooner.

All of the pent-up madness of four years of slavery and abuse at the hands of men broke loose in thin red streams of fire in his veins, and when at last he saw a moving blotch far out on the plain ahead of him, the cry that came out of his throat was one that Gray Wolf did not understand.
Three hundred yards beyond that moving blotch was the thin line of timber, and Kazan and his followers bore down swiftly.

Half-way to the timber they were almost upon it, and suddenly it stopped and became a black and motionless shadow on the snow.

From out of it there leaped that lightning tongue of flame that Kazan had always dreaded, and he heard the hissing song of the death-bee over his head.

He did not mind it now.