For some moments there was a furious volleying, so fierce at moments that the eye followed the movements of the players and the flying ball with no little difficulty.
Inza Burrage was greatly excited. She clapped her hands and waved her handkerchief.
“Oh, aunt!” she cried; “it’s almost as good as a football game! Isn’t it just perfectly splendid!”
“It is confusing—very confusing,” said Miss Abigail, severely. “It seems to be a genuine savage game.”
At last Hodge saw his opportunity, and he drove the ball toward an opening in the ranks of the opposing players. It was skillfully done, and, almost before any one could realize it the game was over, Whirling Bear’s side having conquered.
Then the Indians danced and sang songs of victory.
Swiftwing seemed to take his defeat gracefully, and he insisted that the white boys, Merriwell and Hodge, and not members of his own race had brought it about.
Frank told Swiftwing that he was astonished to find the Indians played the game with so much skill.
“It is great sport,” he said. “I feel well satisfied for my trouble in visiting Taos.”
“You feel satisfied now,” said Swiftwing, in a peculiar manner. “You may not be so well satisfied when you depart.”