It was a sharp struggle, and as the pair grappled, the Indian slipped and dragged Joe down with him. Over and over they rolled, and the red man at last succeeded in wounding Joe in the shoulder. But the youth was game and struck out wildly, and by a lucky stroke caught his opponent in the ribs. Then, as another white came running up, the Indian arose and staggered off. Joe also tried to get up, but a foot suddenly struck him a heavy blow back of the ear, and he fell on his face, unconscious.
The tide of war was now shifting to another part of the forest, and for the time being the young pioneer lay where he had fallen with nobody coming to disturb him. The fighting was as fierce as ever, but was gradually lost in the distance.
At last Joe stirred and opened his eyes in a dazed, uncertain way. Then, thinking his enemy still at hand, he threw up one arm, as if to defend himself.
“Fight fair,” he murmured, and soon sat up, staring around him.
He was much surprised to find himself alone. The blood was flowing from the wound he had received, but fortunately the hurt was not severe.
He remembered that there had been a stream at hand, and he crawled rather than walked to this, to bathe his wound and get a drink of water.
“I must have been completely knocked out,” was his thought. “I wonder what became of that Indian?”
After bathing and drinking his fill, he sat down by the edge of the stream to collect his scattered senses. He could not tell how long it was since he had been fighting.
“Must be an hour or two at least,” he told himself. “Anyway, everybody seems to have cleared out, and left me to myself. I wonder if we whipped them?”
Joe was sitting on the river bank, when presently something up the stream attracted his attention. It was a canoe coming around a bend, and the craft contained two Indians.