As the three warriors bore down on him, Nate King drew his tomahawk and knife.  Two held lances and were not quite close enough to use them.  But the third man had a bow and already had an arrow nocked.  he let fly without taking aim.
   The shaft whizzed past Nate's shoulder, convincing him it was certain death to meet their charge in the open.  Spinning to his left, he sped toward the woods, and cover.  The trio veered to intercept, them but Nate gained the undergrowth well ahead of them.  An arrow thudded into a tree as he flew by, prompting him to tuck at the waist and dash into a cluster of saplings.  On the other side was a small clearing, which he covered in long bounds.
   Tall firs dappled Nate with shadows as he glanced over a shoulder.   The warriors had just reached the clearing and were looking about in confusion.   They had lost sight of him but not for long.  The one in the middle pointed and all three leaped in pursuit like wolves after a fleeing elk.  They didn't whoop or holler as warriors from most tribes were wont to do.  Grimly earnest, they spread out, the archer in the center, an arrow notched and another in his mouth read for swift use.