Little Indian boys hardly large enough to sling a stone; maidens and squaws with switches or spears; athletic young braves with flashing tomahawks; grim, matured warriors swinging knotted war clubs,--all were there in line, yelling and brandishing their weapons in a manner frightful to behold.
The word was given, and stripped to the waist, Isaac bounded forward fleet as a deer.

He knew the Indian way of running the gauntlet.

The head of that long lane contained the warriors and older braves and it was here that the great danger lay.

Between these lines he sped like a flash, dodging this way and that, running close in under the raised weapons, taking what blows he could on his uplifted arms, knocking this warrior over and doubling that one up with a lightning blow in the stomach, never slacking his speed for one stride, so that it was extremely difficult for the Indians to strike him effectually.

Once past that formidable array, Isaac's gauntlet was run, for the squaws and children scattered screaming before the sweep of his powerful arms.
The old chiefs grunted their approval.