Deerfoot on the Prairies

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Victor looked straight into the dusky face and felt a thrill of anger when the Shoshone indulged in another tantalizing grimace. Young Elk made several quick feints, and then, with surprising quickness, smote the cheek of Victor with the flat of his hand, and leaped back and grinned at him.

The blow set Victor’s blood aflame, and, forgetting caution, he rushed upon the other, only, however, to receive a second blow which almost carried him off his feet. It was directly on the mouth and started the blood. But it undid the mischief of the slap given a moment before. Our young friend suddenly realized that he had no slight task before him, and he heeded the words of his brother, who again called to him to keep cool. He mastered his temper and did a clever thing by pretending to be scared. When Young Elk carefully advanced he retreated, and hurriedly glanced over his shoulder, as if looking for a place of refuge.

The Indian was deceived and grew confident. He came forward and drew back his right fist ready to strike, while Victor continued cautiously to give ground. Finally he braced and awaited the attack. The closed hand of the Shoshone shot forward, but the blow was eluded by an instant recoil of the head for an inch or two. Victor felt the wind of the blow on his nose, so close came the fist of his foe.

Then with astonishing quickness he concentrated his strength in his good right arm and landed straight and true upon the cheek of the other, who was sent backward and reeled to one knee, but was up again in a flash.

It became clear that Young Elk was afflicted with as quick a temper as vexed the white youth, for he made a blind, headlong rush, as if to carry everything before him. As he dashed on, his arms sawed the air like a windmill. Victor, never more cool and self-possessed, parried for a moment or two until another opening offered, when he drove his fist again into the flaming countenance with a force that sent his antagonist flat upon his back. He had scored a clean knockdown.

But the Shoshone was not yet vanquished. He bounded to his feet as if made of rubber, and with more coolness than before advanced again upon his antagonist. Each was now in a mental state to do full justice to his own prowess. Several minutes were spent in “sparring for an opening,” but Victor Shelton quickly proved he was superior in skill. He dodged and parried several blows, and, when he landed again, it was the most effective stroke yet done. He delivered his fist accurately upon the jaw of the grinning youth, who again went down.

Victor sprang forward and stood over him, waiting for the Shoshone to rise that he might give him the finishing blow. Young Elk lay as if “taking the count.” He was dazed for the moment by the terrific blows he had received, and all the fight was knocked out of him. He looked up at the young gladiator, then rose, and, instead of facing him, turned and ran at full speed down the ridge.

The amazed Victor took two or three steps in pursuit, but immediately saw that he was not the equal of the other in fleetness, and drew back. The exasperated chief shouted to his son to return, but he was too panic-stricken to obey, and continued running.

Victor was thrown into wild rage by his disappointment. He was not yet through with his foe—though it would seem that he ought to have been—and he wheeled around, panting, and looking for some one upon whom to vent his wrath.

“What are you gaping at?”