Deerfoot in The Mountains

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

"Why does not the Blackfoot squaw strike the Shawanoe? The Shawanoe has struck him. Cannot the Blackfoot see where to strike with his knife? He is as slow as an aged woman, but he fears the Shawanoe, who is his master."

Taggarak could not believe his failure was anything more than one of those accidents to which the most skilful fighter is sometimes liable. His weapon was still firm in his hand, and he moved forward again, taking shorter and more stealthy steps. He crouched as if gathering his muscles for a leap, while the Shawanoe contemptuously watched him, alert and observant as a cat.

Six feet away the chief halted. Deerfoot did not stir. Taggarak had learned of the lightning-like quickness of the youth, but felt none the less certain of speedily overcoming him.

For a full minute the two glared at each other, neither speaking, but the same aggravating, scornful smile was on the face of the young Shawanoe. Suddenly he did an astounding thing. He tossed his knife several feet up in the air, caught it by the handle as it came down and then flung it a couple of rods to one side.

"The Shawanoe needs no weapon to conquer the Blackfoot squaw!"

Then Deerfoot voluntarily placed himself in front of the furious warrior, without any weapon with which to defend himself. Not only that, he folded his arms over his breast and with biting irony added:

"Now let the Blackfoot think he has a squaw in front of him; then he will strike hard, if his hand does not tremble."

It was more than flesh and blood could stand. The passion within the breast of the chief broke into a volcano-like flame. With a hissing gasp he sprang forward, striking swiftly with his knife, first downward, then upward and then from side to side, as if he meant to cut the execrated youth into ribbons. He repeated the wild blows with a celerity that almost prevented the eye from following the movements.

But, as before, he split only vacancy. Deerfoot easily eluded the strokes, which were blinder than usual, for Taggarak was beside himself with passion. In the midst of his aimless outburst the Shawanoe did another thing which was worthy of a skilled pugilist. Waiting for an opening, he shot his left hand forward, and, with the open palm, landed a stunning blow on the bridge of the chief's nose. The advantage of such a blow is that, when rightly delivered, tears are forced into the eyes of the one receiving it, who, for a minute or two, is partially blinded. You can understand his fatal position. He cannot pause to clear his vision, for it comes at the crisis of the fight, and an instant halting means ignominious defeat, while to persevere, when he has only the partial use of his sight, makes his disadvantage hardly the less.

While the chief was savagely blinking, in order to enable him to see, the crowning taunt of all sounded in his ears: