At length it was decided that Wy-an-da should have the precedence.
He took his place with a confident air, like one who is assured of success.
Carefully noting the distance, he drew his tomahawk back, and, taking deliberate aim, gave it a quick jerk; and it went whirling out of his hand.
They watched its flight eagerly.
It missed the lasso by six inches.
The swaying hunter was saved thus far.
He had been watching Wy-an-da as he only could look whose life hung on the issue.
He closed his eyes as he saw the weapon whizzing through the air, and awaited the end.
A tall Indian of massive frame stepped forward.
“O-wan-ton try,” he said.