Joe Napyank; or, The River Rifles

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Both the combatants had dropped their rifles and drawn their knives. With an exultant shout the warrior leaped forward, and swinging his knife, sprang upon his adversary. In a twinkling both were disarmed in a singular manner.

It so happened that the two struck at each other at precisely the same moment, the knives encountering with such force, that the Shawanoe’s shot out of his hand, and followed his tomahawk down the ravine, while the hunter’s was turned with such suddenness that it fell to the ground several yards distant. Both were now entirely disarmed, and glancing at each for a second like infuriate tigers, they closed in the struggle of life and death.

In point of strength the two were very nearly equally matched. Joe had the advantage of being an expert wrestler, while the savage was a perfect novice. The hunter had scarcely grasped him in his long arms, when, with a peculiar thrill, he felt that the victory was his own.

By a trick, or rather act, well known to skilful wrestlers, the white man twisted the redskin off his feet, and throwing him with stunning violence upon the ground fell heavily upon him. Permitting him to rise, he repeated the thing again and again, until the savage became so exhausted as to be perfectly helpless.

The cunning Shawanoe had noticed where the knife of his adversary lay, and each time that he went down, he managed to work himself nearer it. The hunter did not notice his stratagem, until the savage clutched it, and as if rejuvenated by his advantage sprang to his feet, and confronted him with the weapon.

Not the least daunted—for Joe was terribly excited—he closed again with his adversary, receiving an ugly wound in his arm as he did so. At this moment he heard the outcries of the other two Shawanoes, and driven to fury by his imminent peril he gathered all his strength in one mighty effort, and grasping the warrior around the waist, he lifted him clear from his feet, and flung him like an infant over the precipice.

Down like a meteor through the dizzy air, shot the Shawanoe, with his arms clutching wildly at vacancy, spinning from crag to crag with his awful cry coming up like the wail of some lost spirit!

The struggle occupied scarcely a fifth of the time we have taken in describing it. Impelled by the most implacable hate on each side, the blows were quick and fierce, and the termination speedy and tragic. A shriek when the two encountered, a few blows and stunnings, another struggle more desperate than the others, and it was ended.

Joe had secured his knife before throwing the savage into the ravine, and with this single weapon he confronted his two foes. They were both about the same distance from him and he was in doubt whether to expect their united visit at the same moment, or whether they were going to attack him singly. The latter proved to be the case.

One of the Indians seemed to be a sort of chief, or, at least, superior in authority, to the other; for waving his hand for him to keep his distance, he advanced upon the white man, with the manifest resolve of disposing of him without aid from any one else.