You must not set down Terry Clark as an awkward fellow who went into the contest without any skill. His father in his younger days was one of the best fighters in the north of Ireland, and he had taught considerable of his science to his only son, who gave an exhibition of what he could do when he smote the Winnebago that was swinging the cow-bell. There was not a lad anywhere near his years in Greville whom he could not master.
Deerfoot knew nothing of the modern rules of self-defense. His superiority lay in his unequaled dexterity and quickness. It was that, as you will recall, which enabled him to win so many victories over foes who were his superior in every other respect.
CHAPTER XXXVI
America vs. America
Terence Clark gathered himself for another rush and blow at the Shawanoe, when the latter with a quickness which the eye of Fred Linden could hardly follow, ducked under the arm of the Irish lad and again struck him a resounding blow with the flat of the hand, first on one side of the face and then on the other. Terry wheeled and returned the blows with skill. Once his hand grazed the black hair that was dangling about Deerfoot’s head, and several times he touched the nodding feathers, but strive as much as he might, he could not reach the fellow himself.
Now that the combat may be said to have opened, it went through to the end without halt or break. Here, there, everywhere dodged and struck the Shawanoe, while Terry was always just too late to catch him. Deerfoot might have inflicted considerable injury upon his plucky antagonist, had he struck him with his closed hand, but he always used his open palm. Some of the blows resounded like pistol shots. Having delivered all that he wished, Deerfoot doubled up his left hand so that only the index finger was extended. With this he punched the right and left ribs of Terry, then his chest, and then actually flipped each side of his nose, easily dodging the blows which the half angered Irish lad aimed at him in return.
Suddenly Terry turned his back on his foe and deliberately struck several times at vacancy. Then he dropped his hands and walked back by the fire, saying, with a shake of his head:
“I’ve enough! ye could bate the divil and his uncle.”
Fred Linden was sitting on the ground shaking with laughter. He had not seen any thing for a long time that pleased him so much. He had observed Terry in more than one fight with the boys at home and he knew he was an ugly customer, as full of grit as a bull dog, but the Shawanoe struck him fully a dozen times, while the Irish lad with all his skill desperately put forth never once touched him. The discomfiture of the brave Irish lad was complete.
No witness of the bout, however, could have failed to admire the skill and pluck of Terry. He acquitted himself well and kept up the struggle, even after he was convinced that he could do nothing with his alert antagonist. Then, when Deerfoot began to trifle with him, he turned around as I have shown and struck the empty air.
“Why did you do that?” asked Fred, as the three stood by the fire discussing the incident.
Terry passed his open hand over his cheeks, which were red and smarting from the sharp taps of Deerfoot, and closing one eye and scratching his head, made answer:
“I had been sthrikin’ at Deerfut until I obsarved that ivery time I sthruck at him I didn’t hit him; so thinks I to mesilf, I will see whither I can hit him by tryin’ not to hit him; so I sthruck where I knowed he wasn’t, thinkin’ he was there.”
“Well, I must declare Deerfoot the winner.”
“I can’t deny that he is; I throw up the sponge and extind to him the best wishes for himself and family.”
Smiling in a way that left no doubt of his relish of the incident, Deerfoot warmly shook the hand of his friend, whose brave fight had increased his admiration of him.
“My brother is brave,” said he admiringly; “perhaps he can lay Deerfoot on his back; Deerfoot will rejoice if he can do so.”
“Be the powers! but that suits me,” exclaimed the delighted Terry; “I forgot we were to have a wrestling match; Fred, ye will be koind enough to sarve as riferee again; we’ll take side holts and it’ll be the bist two out of thraa.”
Terry was warranted in feeling more confidence in this test of skill. He had failed—as he knew he would always fail—in a sparring contest, for the reason that Deerfoot was so quick that he could not touch him; but one of the necessities of a wrestling match is that the contestants shall first seize each other. Terry believed that he had as much physical strength as Deerfoot, and if he once got a fair hold, he would not let go until he downed him.
Terry being right and Deerfoot left handed, each was able to secure his most effective grip. So, standing side by side, in the old fashioned style, with a dusky left arm around the white neck and a white arm around the dusky neck, they began the struggle.
In this match, as before, Deerfoot allowed his antagonist to dally with him awhile before he took the aggressive. Passing him over his hip Terry gave Deerfoot such a violent fling that a pang of fear shot through him, lest he had broken the Shawanoe’s neck; but though he shot headlong out of the grasp of the Irish lad, the Shawanoe landed lightly on his feet and instantly leaped back and closed with Terry again.
“I’ll fetch ye this time,” he muttered between his compressed lips; “ye shan’t git out of me hands till ye’s down flat on yer back and mesilf layin’ a-straddle of ye. There’s a difference between boxin’ and sparrin’ and I shall taich ye the same, as me grandmither—”
Both went down that instant, but the Shawanoe was on top. His antagonist could not have fallen flatter had he been dropped from the roof of a house.
“Mark the first fall for Deerfut,” called out Terry, hastily clambering to his feet, the Shawanoe extending his hand to help.
This result weakened the confidence of the Irish lad in himself, that is, so far as concerned his opponent. He reflected that many of the Indians are skillful wrestlers, and while Deerfoot had had no training in boxing, he had in the other art. Such a cool headed athlete would be sure to learn fast. Terry recognized the peculiar flirt by which he had been turned off his feet as the very trick he had played successfully on his playmates at home, but which he never dreamed was known to Deerfoot.
The Irish lad tried every possible lock, twist and turn upon his rival, but he could not get him off his feet. It seemed to Terry that he whirled in the air when almost on the ground, and that if he had been dropped head downwards from the height of a rod, he would alight on his feet.
Fred saw Deerfoot, who was carefully watching his antagonist, smile, and he knew what was coming. So deftly that, for the life of him, the spectator could not see how it was done, Terry went over again as “flat as a flounder.” Not only that, but to the astonishment of the victim as well as of the witness, the Shawanoe remained erect, so that he literally flung his antagonist to the ground and looked smilingly down upon him.
“Ye can baat the baaters,” exclaimed Terry, rising to his feet, and shaking hands with his victor. “I niver met any one who could down me in that sthyle. I don’t know how ye did the same, but I haven’t any doubts that ye done it, as me great uncle remarked whin the cannon ball took off his head.”
With the same shadowy smile Deerfoot looked inquiringly at Fred Linden.
“Deerfoot thinks maybe his brother would be glad to lay him on the ground?”
“I’ll be hanged if I don’t try it,” laughed Fred, springing to his feet, and instantly but cautiously closing arms with the graceful warrior.
“My brother can not throw Deerfoot,” said the latter; “but the heart of Deerfoot would be glad if he would tell him how he would like to fall—on his shoulders, or side, or back.”
“I wouldn’t like to fall at all; but if you think you can get me on my shoulders, just try it; that’s all.”
“It shall be as my brother wishes.”
The words seemed yet in the mouth of Deerfoot when Fred felt himself sailing through space, and the next instant he landed on his shoulders with a shock that Terry declared made the ground shake.
&nb
sp; As before, Deerfoot himself did not fall, but looked smilingly down on his prostrate friend as he began climbing to his feet again.
“Now, if my brother wishes to fall on his back, it shall be so.”
“I’ve little doubt that you will not do just as you say you will; I only ask that you wait till I say I am ready; you did the last before I had time to prepare.”
“Ye bitter not ax him to wait,” said Terry, who rolled over on the ground in the exuberance of his mirth, at the sight of his big friend going down before the lithe, willowy Shawanoe; “for since he’s bound to do what he says, the sooner ye are out of yer suspinse, the sooner ye’ll be out of it.”
“Be kind enough to attend to your own affairs,” said Fred stiffly; “Deerfoot and I are running this show.”
“It looks as if Deerfut had charge of the whole of it,” was the comment of Terry, who broke into laughter again; “and whin he is done ye’ll agraa with me.”
Once more the arms passed over each other’s neck. Fred resolved that whatever came, he would not be taken by surprise this time. He was stronger than Terry and he had thrown him more than once. He could not understand, therefore, why he should not at least give the Shawanoe a struggle. He braced his feet, with every muscle strained, and every faculty on the alert.
“I am ready,” said he; “do your best.”
“On which side shall Deerfoot throw his brother?”
“On my right side, and as hard as you can.”
Now, you will see the difficulty of the task, for Fred had his right arm tightly locked over the neck of Deerfoot, so that that side was guarded by the body of the warrior himself. It would seem, that if Fred should fall on either side it could only be on the left. Manifestly if it should be the right, the Shawanoe could not go down with him. He must bring him to the ground and escape from beneath him before he fell.
He did it. For a second or two the contestants stood motionless. Then, like a flash, Deerfoot slipped from the grasp of his friend, dropped down in a stooping posture almost to the earth, holding the right hand of Fred firmly with his left (this was to prevent him using that hand to save himself), and then by a quick dart to the left, he carried both feet of his opponent off the ground, and Fred fell squarely on his right side, his conqueror straightening up as he went down.
“I would be obleeged,” said Terry, throwing back his head with laughter, “if yees will be koind enough to till me who is runnin’ the show about this time.”
Fred was chagrined at the ease with which Deerfoot had overthrown him, and it was not lessened by the honest compliment which the young warrior gave to his skill. Both Fred and Terry had been pretty well jarred, for they were downed with such amazing suddenness that it could not be otherwise; but neither referred to it and they could only praise the wonderful ability of their friend.
“I tell you,” said Fred, seating himself on the ground beside the other two, after the flurry was over, “all this proves that skill is worth more than strength. I am quite sure that I am as strong as you, Deerfoot, but I don’t believe that Terry and I together could lay you on your back. When I had my arm around your neck, I suspected you would try to slip out, and I squeezed you pretty hard. You slid out so quickly that at the moment you were down at my heels, I thought I had you fast.”
“I’m thinkin’ that the nixt thing we should try is a race; Fred can outrun me and I’ll agraa that he will outrun Deerfut, that is, if ye’ll allow me to make the conditions.”
“What would they be?” asked Deerfoot, Looking gravely down upon his friends.
“The race should be for a hundred yards, and Deerfut must give Fred ninety-five yards start, though to make it sure enough, maybe it ought to be ninety-six or siven.”
“Then you would require about ninety-nine, according to the same calculation,” said Fred.
“Ye’s are right,” replied Terry, to whom it seemed that no athletic feat was impossible for the Shawanoe; “nayther yersilf nor mesilf have a right to be mintioned in the same day with him.”
CHAPTER XXXVII
The Last Camp-Fire
It seemed to strike all three of the friends at the same moment that they had shown a strange forgetfulness of the occasion. A sudden impulse had led them into a test of skill, that had continued fully a quarter of an hour, during which there was no thought on the part of any one of the gravity of their situation.
But a little while before, both Fred Linden and Terry Clark were in distress on account of their friends, while their own position (believing as they did that there were Winnebagos in front as well as in the rear), ought to have driven away all inclination for sport or amusement. One of their strongest desires was the presence of Deerfoot, that they might have his counsel and help. Here he was, and no reference had been made to the subjects uppermost in their minds. Now that he took his seat near them by the camp-fire, as if to invite their confidence, they quickly returned to the all important business.
First of all, they asked for his experience since their separation the night before. He gave only a part of it. He told nothing about his conflict with the Wolf and his companion, which resulted in the death of both, but said that he had kept watch of the Winnebagos until morning, when he saw them start for the camp in the mountains. He learned from their signaling that they had other warriors in the neighborhood, and there could be no doubt that an attack was intended upon the Hunters of the Ozark. Nevertheless the Shawanoe kept in their vicinity, until they approached the open prairie of which mention has been make. Then he decided to pass them and join his young friends.
Feeling no doubt that the latter were following the right trail (several examinations which he made satisfied him that they were doing so), he left it altogether, and took a shorter route across the country. He was so familiar with it that he could easily do this. His intention was to strike the main path again at the crossing, where they had such a narrow escape from the cyclone; but he calculated that by nightfall they would be a considerable distance beyond, and he wished to test their watchfulness when left to themselves. So he came back to the trail about half way between that point and the creek which they had crossed by means of the canoe. He saw from an examination of the ground that he was ahead of them, so he sauntered forward, firing off his gun where a turn in the path made it seem to come from one side instead of in front of them. He did this as he explained with a view of warning them to keep their eyes open. It soon began growing dark and he kept on until he reached the stream, where he decided to wait and see what they would do.
He was as surprised as they when they brought forth the little canoe and pushed themselves across by means of the pole which Fred Linden himself cut. He followed them, easily wading the stream. After that he indulged in a little diversion with which you are familiar.
“Wasn’t it strange, Deerfoot,” said Fred, “that we should have found that canoe?”
He nodded his head to signify that he thought it was.
“Have you any idea how it got there?”
“He who owned the boat hid it under the bushes.”
“But there are no Indian villages within a great many miles of this place—is that not so?”
He gave another affirmative nod.
“Have you any idea of who the owner can be?”
A third affirmative nod followed.
“Who is he?” asked Fred in astonishment.
“Deerfoot.”
“What! Does that little canoe belong to you?”
“Deerfoot made it and hid it under the bushes: why did not my brothers use the paddle?”
“We hunted all round, but could not find it.”
“It was within reach of my brother’s hands; it was covered with leaves.”
“And so the boat is yer own?” repeated Terry; “why that looks as if ye lived somewhere in this neighborhood; is such the case, owld boy?”
The question did not seem to please the Shawanoe. He was sitting directly in front of his young friends, who looked earnestly
in his face. He made no answer to Terry’s question, but continued looking among the coals, as if he was pondering some other matter that had thus been brought to mind. Fred shook his head at Terry as a warning that he should not repeat his query, and the latter was wise enough not to do so; but the friends concluded from that moment that the wandering young Shawanoe made his home at no great distance from where all three were at that moment sitting in the wilderness. And they were right.
A minute later, Deerfoot raised his head and signified that he wished to know in turn what had befallen them since they parted company twenty-four hours before. You will admit that each had a stirring story to tell and he told it. The Shawanoe first listened to Terry’s account of his ride on the back of the wounded buffalo, and, when it was finished, he quietly remarked to his young friend that he had done well.
Though he showed no emotion, it was clear to both boys that he felt the most concern in the experience of Fred Linden. He said nothing until the narrator was through, including the account of the cyclone. Deerfoot had heard the noise made by the latter, but he was so far removed from its path that he saw none of its fearful effects, and in fact cared little about it, for he had seen the same thing more than once before.
But that which interested him was the account of Fred Linden’s meeting with the Winnebago horse thieves. This was the first knowledge he received that any of their enemies were mounted on animals. Deerfoot had turned off the main trail so early in the day that he missed them altogether. When he came back to the path, near where the three were in camp at that moment, and he examined the ground for signs of the footprints of the boys, there were none that had been made by the hoofs of horses. They had struck the trail further to the north, taking a different course from the camp where they had stolen the animals.
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 242
