“Hooroo!” he would shriek, meeting an Indian warwhoop with a stentorian Irish cry not a whit less shrill or powerful than the redskins’. “What an illigant country, where they kape foighting for the fun o’ the thing, do ye moind. Och, sure, there’s not the hate of it in the wide, wide worruld, so there ain’t. Look at this, now; that’s a Donegal clip I picked up from Patsy Gagen; he was the son-in-law of me eldest sister’s father’s cousin, and that made him a distant relation to myself, do ye moind; and, be the powers, he taught me this same bit of a twist that they call the Donegal smasher. There, ye have it agin; shure.”
Jared Dwight had gone to work in the savage style.
Stabbing with the knife seemed more suited to his taste just then than did shooting with the pistol, and so he allowed his revolver to remain in his belt while he kept thrusting at his foes in the most cold-blooded and vindictive style.
He seldom drew his revolver, except to shoot down one of the enemy who was getting the best of a friend, and then only when the pair were altogether out of his reach.
It seemed to be no small gratification for him to scour his knife on the ribs of his enemies, and certainly he had plenty of such fun.
The besieged party had fought bravely for their wives and little ones, and their strong blows had told fearfully even against the superior numbers brought to bear against them.
They were led on by a young man of not more than thirty, a tall, nobly-formed Hercules, who walked straight among his foes with an awful battle smile on his lips, and who cut down strong men with magnificent sweeping blows of his heavy rifle.
This was Mustang Max, one of the most skillful guides and worst redskin haters on the plains.
He fought so coolly and easily that it appeared like a pastime to him, and wherever he went with that long swinging rifle and deadly smile the Indians seemed struck with a panic, and would lose no time in gaining another part of the field.
They seemed to fear him far more than even Jared Dwight, although the latter was the more destructive foe.