Deerfoot in The Mountains Part 16

He has said he does not fear the Blackfoot chieftain. Let my brothers speak of something else."

The boys and even Mul-tal-la were so full of the theme that it was hard for them to talk or think of anything beside. They would have questioned the Shawanoe as to his plans and intentions, but he would not permit. The hour was growing late, and the Blackfoot remained but a short time, when he bade all good-night and pa.s.sed out of the tepee.

Respecting the mood of Deerfoot, neither Victor nor George made any further reference to the momentous morrow. They disrobed and stretched out on their soft couches, while the Shawanoe, taking his Bible from the bosom of his hunting shirt, reclined on one elbow--his favorite att.i.tude at such times--so that the light fell on the printed page. He read in his low, musical voice until, suspecting the truth, he paused and looked across at the brothers. Both were asleep. He smiled, read awhile longer to himself and then joined them in the land of dreams, sinking into slumber as quickly as they, and within the ten minutes following his own prayer.

The morning dawned dull, chilly and clouded, with threats of snow in the air. The Shawanoe was the first to awake, and busied himself in his usual noiseless fashion with renewing the fire and preparing the morning meal from the antelope meat, of which enough was on hand to last for several meals. The salt and pepper brought by the boys from home had been used up long before, and they had accustomed themselves to get on without the condiments which seem so much of a necessity with us.

The breakfast was eaten with the usual deliberation, none of the three speaking of the event that was impending, though the brothers were full of it. When Deerfoot arose, drew his knife from his girdle, carefully inspected it and then shoved it back in place and glanced across the room to where his rifle was leaning in one corner, Victor could keep silence no longer.

"You know what faith we have in you, Deerfoot, but we are anxious, and shall be in distress until we see you back again."

"Why are my brothers troubled?" calmly asked the Shawanoe.

"We can't help believing Taggarak will use treachery, for he must know he isn't certain to win when he attacks you."

"Nothing can make him believe the truth till it comes to him. He will take no warriors with him. Deerfoot is in no danger. Let my brothers smile and be glad."

"I wish I could grin, but it's too hard work," was the doleful response of Victor, the face of his brother showing that he felt the same.

Deerfoot warmly shook hands with each in turn, such being his usual custom, stooped and drew the flap aside and pa.s.sed from sight. Enough of the Blackfeet were astir to notice him moving at a moderate pace past the lodges toward the clearing at the rear of the village. He greeted all in their own language, and did not show by anything in his manner that he had any important matter in hand. He stealthily glanced here and there, on the lookout for Taggarak, but saw nothing of him.

Perhaps the chief had already gone to the scene of the hostile meeting; perhaps he had not yet set out, for the hour was early, or, what was more likely, he had taken another route. Of one thing Deerfoot was certain: the chief had told no one of what was coming, except Mul-tal-la, who bore the message to the youth. When the two combatants should meet, no human eye must witness the terrific combat.

The sagacious Shawanoe had decided to follow a certain line that may impress you as singular for him to adopt. It seemed like undue confidence when he declared that he had no fear of the man who was certainly the most fearful fighter of the whole Blackfoot tribe. Modest as he was by nature, Deerfoot was too intelligent not to understand his decisive superiority, as compared with any of his own or of the white race. That superiority had been proved too often to leave any doubt in his mind. Moreover, with his youth and high health, he was aware that these remarkable powers were not declining, but rather increasing, and ought to increase for a dozen or more years to come.

The American Indian, as a rule, does not show excessive muscular development. Arms and legs are wanting in those ridged bunches of sinew which often bulge out all over our athletes. And yet more than one red man has displayed prodigious strength. Deerfoot believed he was stronger than Taggarak, despite his own light, graceful figure, which made him a dusky Adonis.

He knew that possibly he was mistaken in this respect, but there could be no doubt on another point: he was much quicker of movement than the iron-limbed Taggarak. The open s.p.a.ce would give full freedom to both, and this quickness would not be hampered at all during the fight between them. Moreover, Deerfoot was an unerring judge of distance, and knew on the instant when to dodge and when to strike. Therefore he feared not, but with that old Adamic strain in his nature, really yearned for the battle.

It has long been the custom of Indians, when facing each other in mortal strife, to resort to taunts and insults. If a foe can be driven into anger, while his tormentor keeps cool, the latter has the victory half won. Deerfoot could not stifle a feeling of resentment over the contemptuous behavior of Taggarak toward him. Instead of contenting himself with merely challenging the Shawanoe to mortal combat, he sent him word that all that was left for him to do was to choose between two methods of shuffling off the mortal coil. It was to be the Spirit Circle or by the knife of the Blackfoot. This scornful treatment of the youth angered him, and it was one of the reasons why he decided to adopt a policy which in other circ.u.mstances he would have considered beneath a true warrior.

CHAPTER XVII.

A MEMORABLE DUEL.

Deerfoot the Shawanoe, before entering the elevated wooded portion to the east of the bleak plain that had been the scene of his triumphs the day before, paused and carefully scrutinized all that lay within his field of vision. He was not altogether free from a shadowy suspicion that Taggarak would resort to treachery, though for reasons named by Mul-tal-la it was improbable. Despite the care the youth had used, he feared that rumors of the coming fight had got abroad, and some of the curious might brave the wrath of their chief for the sake of viewing the combat. That which Deerfoot saw, or rather failed to see, convinced him that both fears were unfounded.

He recalled too clearly the spot named by the Blackfoot to make any mistake, and he went directly to it. A few rods beyond the rocks where Mul-tal-la and Deerfoot had caught sight of each other after their long separation was a comparatively clear and level s.p.a.ce that covered a fourth of an acre or less. A glance showed it to be an ideal spot for a meeting such as was at hand.

Deerfoot looked hastily around for Taggarak. He was not in sight. In truth, the Shawanoe was considerably ahead of time, and the chief was not a moment late when, after awhile, he strode into view from the other side of the arena.

This famous chieftain has already been described. No one could look upon him without a certain admiration, and it was easy to believe the many stories of his prowess. He was spare of frame, nearly six feet tall, and his mien and manner showed perfect fearlessness. He wore no head dress, his abundant hair, in which there was not the first streaking of gray, falling loosely over his shoulders, almost to his waist. The upper part of his body was encased in a shirt of deerskin, and the buckskin breeches were fringed down the legs. Deerfoot noticed that he had on a new pair of moccasins, stained several bright colors.

He must have thought the occasion warranted something in the nature of display. There was no skirt to the jacket-like garment, the thighs being inclosed with the buckskin which formed the leggings, after the manner of the modern style of trousers. The handle of his knife--the weapon that many a time had done frightful work--could be seen protruding from the girdle that encircled his waist.

With a dignified step the chief strode forward until within a dozen paces of Deerfoot, when he paused and scowled at him.

Following his policy of tantalism, Deerfoot made a mock bow and said:

"Blackfoot, the Shawanoe is glad to see you come at last. But why does the Blackfoot tremble when he finds himself in front of a warrior instead of a squaw who knows not how to fight?"

The chief had never been addressed in this audacious fashion, and his eyes seemed to scintillate from under his scowling brows. Could it be he heard aright?

"When the Shawanoe learned that the Blackfoot who calls himself chief and pretends to be a brave man wished to meet him in fight by this rock, the heart of the Shawanoe was glad and he hurried to come; but the Blackfoot is backward. He hoped the Shawanoe would not come, but he is here and eager to fight him."

And to show the truth of his words, Deerfoot drew his knife from his girdle and grasped it in his good left hand.

Taggarak now found his voice. There was a tremulousness in the words, but it was due to his tumultuous wrath and not to fear.

"Dog of a Shawanoe! Do you choose to die by the hand of Taggarak, or shall he send you to the Spirit Circle? Let him choose!"

"Squaw of a Blackfoot! It shall be _neither_. The Shawanoe cares naught for the Spirit Circle, and will not go there. He has no fear of the Blackfoot who knows how to fight women but trembles when he stands before the Shawanoe! Has the Blackfoot brought some of his warriors to save him from the anger of the Shawanoe?"

And Deerfoot glanced around, as if looking for the help which he knew was not near. He did not see it, but he saw something else, which caused him almost as much displeasure. As he turned toward a large boulder, half hidden by bushes, the upper part of a head dropped down out of sight. Seen only for an instant, the Shawanoe recognized the owner as Victor Shelton, and knew his brother was with him. Despite Deerfoot's orders the boys had managed to steal their way from place to place and were spectators of this meeting. It was too late now to correct the wrong, and he acted as if he knew it not. All the same, he resolved to "discipline" the youths for disregarding his orders.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A Memorable Duel.]

In this game of abuse the chief was no match for the Shawanoe, who saw that the tempestuous rage of Taggarak threatened to master him.

Accustomed throughout his life to be feared and obeyed, it was unbearable thus to be flouted to his face by a stripling, whom he felt able to crush like a bird's egg. He drew his knife, whose blade was several inches longer than the weapon of the Shawanoe.

With the weapon clinched as if in a vise, the chief thrust his left foot forward for a single pace, but did not advance farther. He was debating with himself how best to dispose of this intolerable youth. A quick death would be too merciful; he would first wound and then prolong his suffering for an hour or more.

"The trembling Blackfoot fears to come to the Shawanoe, so the Shawanoe will go to him."

These words were accompanied with an exquisite sneer, and Deerfoot advanced three paces, taking care to stop before he was within reach of the enraged chief.

"Does the Shawanoe think the G.o.d he worships can save him from the vengeance of Taggarak, who spurns that G.o.d?"

The reply was a n.o.ble one. Dropping his insulting tones and manner, Deerfoot said:

"The Shawanoe knows not whether the G.o.d he worships will save him; he never cares nor thinks of _that_. He knows that whatever his Father chooses to do _is right_, and if He does not wish to take care of the Shawanoe, it _is right_. He will go to heaven, the abode of those who obey G.o.d, when he is called. He will be ready, whether he hears that call in the gloom of the woods at midnight or on the plain when the sun is high in the sky.

"The Blackfoot worships false G.o.ds. Let him learn whether they will help him when he stands in front of the Shawanoe."

The self-confidence of the chief was absolute. Wearied of listening to the taunts of the dusky Apollo, he strode toward him, raising his right hand as he did so, feinted once and then brought down the weapon with a vicious vigor that was meant to bury the point in the shoulder of Deerfoot.

The blade, however, swished through air, and the youth smote the chief squarely in the mouth with the back of his fist. He could have used his knife, but he chose to play awhile with this boaster. He delivered his blow so quickly that the Blackfoot, accustomed as he was to fierce hand-to-hand fighting, had no time to dodge or parry, and the next instant the Shawanoe was ten feet away, weapon still grasped, and grinning at the slightly dazed chief.

"Why does not the Blackfoot squaw strike the Shawanoe? The Shawanoe has struck _him_. Cannot the Blackfoot see where to strike with his knife?

He is as slow as an aged woman, but he fears the Shawanoe, who is his master."

Taggarak could not believe his failure was anything more than one of those accidents to which the most skilful fighter is sometimes liable.

His weapon was still firm in his hand, and he moved forward again, taking shorter and more stealthy steps. He crouched as if gathering his muscles for a leap, while the Shawanoe contemptuously watched him, alert and observant as a cat.

Six feet away the chief halted. Deerfoot did not stir. Taggarak had learned of the lightning-like quickness of the youth, but felt none the less certain of speedily overcoming him.

For a full minute the two glared at each other, neither speaking, but the same aggravating, scornful smile was on the face of the young Shawanoe. Suddenly he did an astounding thing. He tossed his knife several feet up in the air, caught it by the handle as it came down and then flung it a couple of rods to one side.