THE BOYS SETTLE A QUESTION
Not only is it impossible for two red-blooded boys to be together for any length of time without engaging in some kind of competition, but usually that competition takes the form of seeing "who is the best man!" No boy likes to be out-done at any sport; and if he is, he usually tries to improve in that sport, or casts about to find something at which he is better than his victor. Whitey was compelled to acknowledge that Injun was the better shot—how long he would remain better, especially with the rifle, was a matter that was up to Whitey—but the strongest and fleetest boy in the big Eastern school was not going to acknowledge Injun's superiority in other branches of sport until he was obliged to do so.
As far as riding was concerned, there was no comparison at all; and again Whitey was compelled to admit inferiority. But he knew that his rival had by far the better horse, and had practically been brought up on his back; and Whitey felt that, given an equal opportunity, he, too, could ride as well as the next boy. If spending most of his waking hours in the saddle would accomplish this, he determined to put them in that way.
It must not be understood that Whitey was a "poor loser"—such was far from the truth. Defeat did not make him "sore" and engender hatred in him; it only made him try the harder. He was always the first to congratulate his successful rival, and to make up his mind that he would strive to equal or excel his rival's performance. In this instance, however, he realized that he was "playing Injun's own game"; and maybe, if Injun played some of Whitey's games, he would not come off any better than Whitey had at Injun's.
It was several days before the stiffness from riding began to leave Whitey's muscles and they assumed their usual elasticity; but he had stuck to his saddle during that time, and gradually the soreness began to wear away. He also had acquired confidence and a knowledge of his horse, the sorrel, which he had named Monty, and Monty had begun to know him. This is a necessity for really finished or satisfactory riding; and, on the advice of Bill Jordan, Whitey assumed entire charge of the horse, grooming and feeding and watering him, and ingratiating himself into Monty's confidence and affection in every way that he could until he had established an understanding between them.
"Ef yo' an' that sorrel gets to be pals," said Bill, "Yo' hes gone a long ways toward bein' a rider. Team-work counts for a heap in that game!"
And so, although it would be a long time before Whitey and Monty could ever hope to rival Injun and his pinto, yet, for all practical purposes, Whitey became a fair horseman, and the pair made a good combination. He even had aspirations toward riding one of the bucking bronchos that the boys broke in the corral; but Bill Jordan put a veto on this, and said that there would be "plenty of time for thet stuff when funeral expenses ain't so high!"
On most of his excursions out into the prairie, Injun accompanied him, and seldom did the two boys come back to the ranch without a race. At first Injun won regularly; but as Whitey learned to ride, he gradually shortened the distance by which he and Monty were the losers, until it became nip and tuck, and finally Whitey and Monty had won two heats in succession.
On the third day, as they came in neck and neck, the two boys rode so close together that they could touch each other; and before they knew it, were indulging in that most hazardous and difficult game, wrestling on horse-back. Injun, who was literally part of the horse, finally succeeded in unseating Whitey, and the latter hit the ground with a thump.
Whitey picked himself up, and grinning, said, "Injun, you might throw me when we're on our horses, but you couldn't do it on the ground!"
Injun slipped from his pinto, laid aside his bow and arrows and his hunting-knife, and accepted the challenge without hesitation: "Me 'rassle," he said, and began to slip around Whitey with a gliding and panther-like motion, looking for a hold. Whitey faced him alertly, and for a moment nothing else happened. Bill Jordan and several of the boys watched the contest from the fence of the corral. Suddenly, Injun darted in with the swiftness of a rattlesnake making a strike, and secured a hold on Whitey's leg, coming within an ace of upsetting him. But Whitey was not to be upset so easily; he seized Injun's arm with one hand, and putting his forearm under Injun's chin, forced his head back; and exerting his thigh-muscles, he broke Injun's hold on his leg. Quickly shifting his hold from Injun's arm, and slipping his other arm beneath Injun's, he secured what boys call "an under-hold"; and then, half turning, he threw Injun over his hip to the ground, heavily.
But Whitey came down, too, although he was on top; for Injun had locked his arms about Whitey's neck and held on with a grip like a vise. They were locked in this way for perhaps two minutes, but Whitey knew that it was only a matter of time when he could break this hold, and he was in no hurry. At the slightest relaxation of the pressure that Injun was putting on, he could get one of his hands under Injun's arms, or he could twist out. He felt, at first contact that he was stronger than Injun and a good deal heavier, and these are two big assets in wrestling, though the smaller boy was perhaps quicker. And then, too, Whitey knew many wrestling holds, while Injun depended entirely upon his natural instincts; this, also, was greatly to Whitey's advantage.
But there was one thing Whitey had not reckoned on, and that was Injun's nature—Injun was getting angry, and Whitey could feel that his opponent was trying to strangle him, and meant to do him some injury if he could.
"What are you trying to do?" asked Whitey as Injun put on more pressure. "This isn't a fight—we're not trying to kill each other!" But Injun made no reply but continued to rough it.
This put a new face on the matter, and Whitey quickly slid one hand beneath Injun's arm, and prying it up, he wrenched his head from Injun's strangle-hold in no very gentle manner. As he did this, Injun slid out from under him and got to his hands and knees in a sort of "dog-fall"; and this gave Whitey a chance to twist one of Injun's arms around his back and force it upward between the shoulder-blades in what is known as a "hammer-lock," and quickly turned Injun over on his back and pinned his shoulders down. Once Injun was "down" and manifestly helpless, Whitey jumped to his feet and held out his hand; but Injun rose slowly and did not take it.
"Look out fer that Injun," said one of the boys to Bill Jordan, "he's bad medicine! He'll do that kid some dirt, first thing y' know!" But the warning was unnecessary, for Bill was already on his way toward the two boys.
Quick as a flash Injun stooped and picked up his knife which he had thrown beside his bow and arrows, and turned to Whitey; but the latter was ready and proceeded to show Injun a game that Injun knew nothing about whatever. The Indian, in the wilds, doesn't know anything about using his fists—he fights only with a weapon. Boxing is confined, almost entirely, to the Anglo-Saxon race, and when Whitey's solid fist landed on Injun's jaw with all the force that Whitey could put into a long swing, Injun was a very much astonished young man, and he went down in a heap, his arms stretched out and his eyes blinking and his mind dazed. Whitey stepped on the wrist of the hand that held the knife, and took it out of the boy's hand and threw it far from them.
Whitey's solid fist landed on Injun's jaw.
Seeing this, and knowing that any real danger was over, Bill and the boys stopped.
"Might as well let 'em have it out," said Bill. "They'll have to settle who's boss, an' it may as well be now as any other time. That Whitey person ain't no slouch! Did you see the slam he handed that kid?"
Injun evidently didn't think that he was licked yet, for he made one more rush, as he struggled to his feet—and only one. For as good a boxer as Whitey, he offered too big a mark to miss; and as he came in, head down, he was met by a fair and square left-hand upper-cut on the nose; and when he straightened from this Whitey promptly knocked him down with his right.
Then he stood off, waiting for Injun to get up; but Injun was in no hurry. He looked solemnly at Bill and the boys. When he rose slowly to his feet, Whitey picked up the knife and the bow and arrows and walked up to Injun and handed them to him. Injun took them wonderingly; he couldn't understand such conduct in a victor, at all! Then Whitey held out his hand. "I'm sorry I had to hit you," he said. "But you got mad!" Injun looked at him for a long time; then he took the hand. "You boss!" he said, as he leaped upon the pinto and was gone.
Bill slapped Whitey on the back: "Son," he said, "I guess you'll do! I reckon you kin take care of yerself most any time! An' you give that Kid jes' what he deserved—a good lickin'! An' you fought fair—like a white man!"
"An' 'f I was you," said one of the boys, "I'd keep my eye on thet coyote. He'll sneak up on ye some time an' see how far he kin run thet knife o' his'n in yer back! I wouldn't trust them birds!"
"Well," said Bill, "mebbe y' better watch him fer a spell; but I don't figger him thet way. He's a game little rooster, an' gener'ly them thet's game has got somethin' to 'em. Besides, he's different from the gener'l run o' his tribe. He done said you was boss! An' I take it, thet means he's surrendered, an' 'll walk turkey from now on. We'll see."
"What's all this about?" asked Mr. Sherwood, coming up just then. "You look a little mussed up," he added, turning to Whitey.
"Your boy jes' hed a slight argyment with the injun, an' he convinced him," said Bill. "Thet's all."
"And what was it he convinced the Indian of?" asked Mr. Sherwood, smiling.
"He convinced him of the sooperiority of the White race," said Bill. "Convinced him good an' plenty—right on the nose—an' other parts!"