“Yes, Rollins,” Rattler replied. “The poor fellow had jumped for a tree, like the rest of us, and would have been all right, but this greenhorn came up, excited the bear, and it tore Rollins horribly.”
I stood speechless with amazement that he should dare go so far. It was impossible to endure such lying, and in my very presence. I turned on Rattler and demanded: “Do you mean to say Rollins was escaping, and I prevented it?”
“Yes,” he nodded, drawing his revolver.
“And I say the bear had seized him before I came.”
“That’s a lie,” said Rattler.
“Very well; here’s a truth for you,” and with these words I knocked his revolver from his hand with my left, and with the right gave him such a blow on the ear that he staggered six or eight feet away, and fell flat on the ground.
He sprang up, drew his knife, and came at me raging like a wild beast. I parried the knife-thrust with my left hand, and with my right laid him senseless at my feet.
“Ugh! ugh!” grunted Intschu-Tschuna, surprised into admiration, which his race rarely betray.
“That was Shatterhand again,” said Wheeler, the surveyor.
I kept my eye on Rattler’s comrades; they were angry, but no one dared attack me, and though they muttered among themselves they did no more.