“No; I’m on the right track—no mistake about that. I must cross the trail soon, if they have got this far. Ha! what is coming yonder? A red-skin, I suppose, and one who wants my scalp. Now, Samson, who knows but we may have a little brush to stir our blood?”
The horse pricked up his ears, whinnied, and seemed to anticipate a combat as eagerly as his master.
It was a mere speck that attracted the attention of the rider; but it was a moving speck, and he could easily guess what it meant. When he caught sight of it, he might have mistaken it for a solitary buffalo; but a brief inspection showed him that its movements were not those of the buffalo. Soon something white came into view, and the rays of the sun, shining upon it, made the speck look like a moving star.
Within a short time the speck was no longer a speck, but had assumed the form and proportions of an Indian on horseback. The white man reined in his horse, took his rifle in his right hand, and awaited the approach of the stranger.
When the Indian had come within rifle-shot, the white man judged it best to signal him and ascertain his intentions. Accordingly, he raised his right hand, with the palm in front, and pushed it back and forth a few times. This was a signal to halt; but the savage, after shaking his head furiously, paid no further attention to it, but put his horse to full speed, and commenced to circle around his foe.
Mounted on a jet-black horse, the exact image of that which carried the white man, he presented a fine appearance as he galloped swiftly over the plain. He was nearly naked, his blanket being under him, and his skin shone as if it had been freshly oiled. With fine features, eyes as fierce and keen as lightning, and supple and sinewy limbs, every motion showing the play of his muscles, he presented an excellent object for the study of the painter or the sculptor. His scalp-lock, adorned with feathers, showed that he held a high rank as a brave. In his right hand he carried a gun, a bow and a quiver of arrows were slung at his back, and an Indian battle-ax hung at his left side. On his left arm he carried a shield, round and white, which was dazzling to the beholder when the rays of the sun were reflected from it.
“That red-skin don’t want to talk,” muttered the white man. “He is keen for fight, and won’t be satisfied until he gets his fill. Well, I think I can accommodate him.”
As the Indian circled over the prairie, the white man, with his rifle at his shoulder, kept turning, so as continually to face his antagonist. His horse, obedient to the slightest pressure of his knee, turned where he stood, as if he comprehended, as well as his master, the best position for defense.
It was the object of the Indian to draw the fire of the white man; but he soon perceived that his foe was too wary for him, and he changed his tactics. Slinging his gun, he took his bow and some arrows from his shoulder. He then fastened one foot in his wooden stirrup, threw his body over on the right side of the horse, and again commenced to ride around the white man, drawing nearer at every circle, until he was within easy bow-shot, when he began to discharge his arrows at his antagonist.
This position of affairs soon became unpleasant to the white man, as the arrows flew uncomfortably near him, and he was obliged to change his position. He dismounted, and stood at the side of his horse, turning as the Indian wheeled, so as to make a breastwork of the animal. Still the Indian sent his arrows flying, and one of them struck the horse in the shoulder.