Deerfoot in The Mountains

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

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 God he worships can save him from the vengeance of Taggarak, who spurns that God?"

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

"The Shawanoe knows not whether the God 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 God, 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 gods. 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.