While I was talking I, too, had stripped the upper part of my body, for, although it was not necessary, I did not wish it to appear that I desired to shield myself from the knife. I gave my gun and revolver to Sam, and stepped forth into the middle of the square. One could almost see the throbbing of good Sam Hawkins’ heart, but I felt undisturbed, and confidence is the first requisite for a combat.
The chief summoned us to take our places. Lightning Knife looked me over contemptuously, and said in a loud voice: “The body of this feeble pale-face throbs with fear; is he afraid to enter the ring?”
Scarcely had these words been uttered than I stepped into the southward circle, thus bringing my back towards the sun, while it shone into my adversary’s eyes and blinded him. This may seem like taking an unfair advantage, but considering I had never fought with knives before, while he was renowned for his skill with them, this did not make up for the advantages on his side, and it was perfectly fair. Tenderness towards my opponent was worse than foolish; any weakness on my part would not only have cost me my life, but the lives of the Apaches for whom I fought; so, though a life-and-death combat is a horrible thing, I was forced to do my best to kill this Hercules.
“He is actually going to try,” laughed Lightning Knife scornfully. “My knife shall drink his blood. The Great Spirit gives him into my hand by taking away his senses.”
Among Indians this sort of preliminary fight with tongues is customary, and I should have been considered cowardly if I had stood silent, so I answered: “You fight with the mouth, but I have here a knife; take your place if you are not afraid.”
He bounded into the other circle, crying angrily: “Afraid! Metan-Akva afraid! Did you hear that, ye Kiowa braves? I will have this white dog’s life with my first stroke.”
“My first stroke will be the end of you. Now silence. You should not be called Metan-Akva, but Avat-Ya [Big Mouth].”
“Avat-Ya, Avat-Ya! This coyote pig dares insult me; my blade shall eat his bowels.”
This last threat was very short-sighted on his part, for it gave me a hint as to the manner and place in which his weapon would be used. So he did not mean to stab my heart, but give a knife-thrust below, and rip my body.
We stood quite close, so that neither had to bend much to reach his foe. Metan-Akva’s right arm hung straight down; he held the knife so that the hilt rested on his little finger, and the blade stuck out from between the thumb and index-finger, the edge turned upward. This showed that I was right: he intended to strike upward from below, for if he were going to strike downward he would have held the knife in the opposite way, that is, so that the hilt lay against the thumb, with the blade thrust outward through the fist by the little finger. Then I knew the way in which I was to be attacked; now the main thing was to know the exact moment, which his eyes would tell me. I knew the peculiar flash of the eyes which in such cases precedes a blow.