“I am ready,” added George; “but can you trust these people?”
“Mul-tal-la does not know about the others, but what Black Elk says he will do, that he will do.”
“Well, what is his plan?”
The Blackfoot now turned and talked for some minutes with Black Elk, one of the chiefs of the Shoshones. Then the chief called his sons to him, and there was more talk. The dusky youths looked at the boys and grinned in a way that showed they were pleased over the prospect and counted upon making short work of the pale-faced intruders.
“I’m aching to get at that chunky chap,” said Victor, who for some reason had taken an intense dislike of the ill-favored youth.
“Maybe you will ache more after you are through with him. You must keep cool, Victor, or it will go hard with you.”
Mul-tal-la now addressed himself to the boys.
“Black Elk has made these rules: My brother,” indicating George, “shall wrestle with Antelope—he is the tall one—and, if he throws Antelope, then the gun shall be given back to my brother; but if Antelope throws him, then he shall keep the gun of my brother.”
Mul-tal-la was slyer than his friends had supposed. He had been in the company of the youths long enough to learn that George Shelton was the superior of his brother in wrestling, and indeed possessed no little skill in that respect. The Blackfoot was sanguine that the white youth could overturn Antelope. And yet he was by no means certain, for the Indian was taller and showed that he was strong and agile. Many red men pride themselves on their skill in wrestling, and have good grounds for doing so. Mul-tal-la warned George of this and impressed upon him not to throw away the slightest advantage he could gain from the very outset.
To prove that Black Elk meant to be fair, he compelled his son to lay his knife on the ground beside his bow. The youth carried no tomahawk or other weapon, and to reciprocate, George handed his knife to Mul-tal-la.