The Hunters of the Ozark

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  AMERICA VERSUS IRELAND.

  Having satisfied themselves that they could not have fallen upon a saferplace, the boys came back to their camp, as it may be called, and satdown in front of the blaze. Their knapsacks were unstrapped from theirbacks and the blankets spread upon the leaves. There was some moisturein the thick cloth, but not enough to deter them from using them ascouches. Their own clothing had become dry, and, under the warm glow ofthe fire, the blankets would soon be the same.

  In spite of the reconnoissance just made, both felt some uneasiness overtheir own situation. They were confident that no one further away thantwo or three rods would observe the fire, but the possibility remainedthat some enemy might pass within that space, brief as it was. Theirexperience since leaving Greville taught them that a large number ofWinnebagos were in the wilderness, and, as Terry remarked, the nearerthey approached camp, the more plentiful did they seem to become.

  It was this feeling which caused them to let the fire sink to half itsfirst size and led them to keep far back within the circle of lightthrown into the surrounding gloom. They talked in low voices, oftenlistening and looking around, and were in any thing but a comfortableframe of mind. The feeling with them was that if any enemy should happento be lurking in the vicinity, every possible advantage would be on hisside.

  "I feel, Terry, as though all this is wasted time. I know it is morethan likely that the Winnebagos are doing the same as we, that is,nothing at all; but that makes me more anxious to push on."

  "I've an idaa," remarked the Irish lad, who was stretched out in a lazyposture, with his cap in hand, while, as was his custom, he scratchedhis pate with the other; "I'm thinkin' why couldn't we aich take a torchin hand and walk along over the path with the same?"

  Fred was half inclined to try the experiment, but fear prevented. Theyhad learned that the Winnebagos were not only in the rear but in front.No more conspicuous target can be given than that of a person carrying alighted torch: it was the same as when a man with a candle in his handstarts out to explore his house for burglars. So that plan was notadopted.

  Terry was about to speak to his companion, when the latter saw himstart, and, rising quickly to the sitting position, stare at a pointbeyond Fred. He had seen something that terrified him.

  With his big round eyes still fixed on the gloom behind young Linden,Terry stealthily reached for his gun, which lay on the leaves close by,and softly drew back the flint. Fred, as may be supposed, was alarmed,and starting half to his feet, glanced nervously around.

  He saw nothing.

  "What's the matter?" he asked in an undertone, as he also laid his handupon his weapon.

  "Whin I was lookin' at ye," said Terry in a husky whisper, "I obsarvedone of the spalpeens standin' right behind ye and close enough to touchye with his hand. Before I could spake, he slipped out of sight like ashadder."

  Fred did not ask his companion whether he was sure of what he said, forhe knew he was not mistaken.

  "That shows we shouldn't have started the fire; it has caught the eye ofsome of the Indians, who will be here in a few minutes; let's slip backin the darkness and get as far off as we can; it don't make muchdifference what course we take, but it will never do to stay here."

  Fred Linden had no more than completed his guarded remark, when he toocaught sight of a warrior standing on the very edge of the circle oflight and looking straight at him. The view of the dusky intruder wasfaint but unmistakable.

  The outlines and figure received enough of the firelight to cause him tolook like a dim painting against a dark background. He was holding arifle in one hand and appeared to be contemplating the lads, as ifseeking to learn their identity before he advanced or performed someaction.

  "_Sh!_ don't stir," whispered Fred, softly raising the hammer of hisgun, "I see him,--I'll drop him!"

  With the utmost caution he brought the gun around in front until it wasalmost to his breast. Then as quickly as he could he raised it to hisshoulder and aimed at the daring redskin.

  But the latter was invisible, he had vanished like the picture on theslide of a magic lantern.

  As you may suppose, the boys began to feel queer. There was something sopeculiar about this business that, as Terry expressed it, he was "crawlyall over." What they might have done can only be guessed, for beforethey could move away from the fire, Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who had beenhaving a little amusement at their expense, advanced from the gloom andaddressed them.

  "The heart of Deerfoot is glad when he sees his brothers do not sleep;he has watched them, but their eyes are open."

  "Wal, be the powers!" muttered Terry Clark, hastily rising to his feet,as did Fred; "the spalpeen that plays that trick on me has got to fightit out."

  And he began taking off his coat and spitting on his hands, to show thatthe matter could only be settled by a bout at fisticuffs. Deerfoot hadextended his hand to Fred and he smiled at the combative Irish lad, whoput up his fists and began dancing about him in the most belligerentfashion.

  "Give him a trial," whispered Fred, with a laugh.

  "Deerfoot loves his brothers; he can not hurt them."

  "If ye can git the bist of mesilf," said Terry, who was still sawing theair and hopping about as though the ground had become hot; "I'll thinkmore of ye than iver before, bein' that I think more of ye now than Iever can, and I defy ye to sit your gun aside and git the bist of me inany way."

  "Go for him," urged Fred, knowing that the Irish boy, strong and activeas he was, had no chance with the Shawanoe; "he thinks he is yourmaster when you don't use your weapons. If you will give him a lesson,it will do him good."

  "Deerfoot will try to be a teacher to my brother," said the Shawanoegravely, handing his gun to Fred, and following with his knife andtomahawk, that he might have no weapons except such as nature gave him.Then he threw some wood on the fire, so that the space immediatelysurrounding them was as light as noonday. Finally, every thing beingready, he proceeded to "go for" Mr. Terence Clark in a truly aboriginalfashion.

  Now, it must be borne in mind that, though there was and could not bethe least ill feeling between the youths, yet each was resolutelyresolved to overcome the other in the most emphatic manner at hiscommand. Terry did not mean to batter the handsome face of his duskyfriend, but to tap it so smartly that he would feel it. The naturallycombative lad was an adept with his fists, and he meant to strikeDeerfoot often enough to convince him of his inferiority. Then he wouldrush in, seize the young warrior and throw him to the ground, repeatingit several times, until his antagonist cried, "Hold! Enough!" FredLinden was to play the part of referee, and decide which was the betterman. Thus you see the match bore some similarity to those of the presentday, in which the victor is declared to be the one who in a certainnumber of rounds gains the advantage of the other.

  "As I am to be the boss of this business," sald Fred, with the keenestzest, "let me explain the terms: Each one is to strike the other asoften as he can, the blows to be sharp enough to be felt pretty plainly,but not enough to cause any injury. I will let this go on until one ofyou has enough, or until I am satisfied of the superiority of one overthe other. After that you are to have a wrestling match. When I call foryou to stop, you must do so, no matter how anxious you may be to go on.Is that understood?"

  "The terms are agraaable to mesilf," said Terry; "it is sittled thatthere's to be no bettin' on the match."

  "I have no objection to your betting if you wish, but inasmuch as youhaven't a cent and Deerfoot never did such a thing as bet in all hislife, I don't think there will be any trouble about holding the stakes."

  "There ain't to be any foul blows in this," added Terry, who showed thathe knew more than most of his friends about the "Irish champions" andthe cause that made them champions of England and Ireland.

  "What do you mean by foul blows?" asked the puzzled Fred.

  "Hits below the belt. What I wished to observe, howiver, is that weain't to recognize such things as foul blows
in this fight for thechampionship of Louisiana. Aich one is to git the bist of the ither inthe bist way he can. The rule, Deerfut, is for such pugilists to shakehands before beginnin' to try to knock aich ither out."

  And Terry extended his hand, which the young warrior gravely shook, for,as you can well understand, this was something to which he wasaltogether unaccustomed. He knew, however, the nature of the contestbetween himself and his doughty Irish friend, and he entered into itwith the calm confidence with which he would have engaged Tecumsehhimself in a fight to the death with knives.

  Deerfoot did not put up his hands after the manner of a pugilist, nordid he even close them, but fixing his eyes on those of Terry (just ashe always did in his deadly fights with his antagonists), he begansoftly circling about him, like a cat searching for a chance to leapupon his prey.

  This did not disconcert Terry, whose pose would have been pronouncedexcellent by any one competent to judge. The left arm and foot wereadvanced, the right fist being held across and just in front of thebreast, ready to take advantage of the first opening that presenteditself.

  As Deerfoot circled around Terry, the latter moved around him, each onthe alert for a chance.

  "Moind yer eye," Terry was kind enough to say; "it's a pity to sp'ilsuch a handsome face, but a sinse of dooty will not allow me to thrifle,and so here goes!"

  With that he made a creditable lunge with his left, instantly followingit with his right hand, and leaping back to avoid a counter. He did notstrike Deerfoot nor did he receive a blow in return.

  "Ye are quick on yer faat and very good at dodgin', but it is anobligation ye owe to yersilf and to America to show whither thim foinpurty hands can hit----"

  _Rap, whack, spat!_ The Shawanoe smote one cheek of Terry, then theother, and then his mouth, the blows being so quick that they seemed tobe simultaneous. At the moment they were delivered, the Irish lad couldnot see that the young warrior had stirred. He appeared to be moving inhis cat-like way around him, but beyond reach of Terry's own toughfists. Seeing that he must force matters, he made a furious rush for hisantagonist.

  You must not set down Terry Clark as an awkward fellow who went into thecontest without any skill. His father in his younger days was one of thebest fighters in the north of Ireland, and he had taught considerable ofhis science to his only son, who gave an exhibition of what he could dowhen he smote the Winnebago that was swinging the cow-bell. There wasnot a lad anywhere near his years in Greville whom he could not master.

  Deerfoot knew nothing of the modern rules of self-defense. Hissuperiority lay in his unequaled dexterity and quickness. It was that,as you will recall, which enabled him to win so many victories over foeswho were his superior in every other respect.