“Knock that knife out of his hand!” called Joseph excitedly. He partly raised himself from the ground and even tried to rise to his feet. This was out of the question, however, and he sank back with a groan.
“Rap him on the knuckles! What’s the matter with you, Bob?” he cried. “Why don’t you do something?”
As the hand which held the knife swung in his direction Robert did shake off his lethargy and was able to do something. He struck the hostile redman with all his force directly across the wrist. He used a stone which he had picked up for the purpose. The blow was a severe one and it accomplished its object. The fingers relaxed their grip on the handle and the knife slipped to the ground.
“Grab it, quick!” directed Joseph. “Don’t let him have it again!”
Robert pounced upon the weapon and having availed himself of it turned to use it on his enemy. It was not necessary, however. The blow which Robert had dealt had broken the Indian’s wrist and rendered his hand useless. Deerfoot found no difficulty in dealing with an opponent who now had the use of only one arm.
He quickly disposed of his adversary and both Robert and Joseph turned their backs with a shudder as Deerfoot tore the scalp from his victim’s head. There was no use in arguing with him about the act now, however.
“Let’s hurry!” exclaimed Robert, when Deerfoot had completed his gruesome task.
“No go yet,” replied Deerfoot. He quickly stepped over the log which had sheltered them all so well, and parting the bushes disclosed to view another Indian who lay lifeless on the ground. Deerfoot immediately set to work to tear his bloody trophy from the head of this brave also.
“Where did that Indian come from?” exclaimed Robert in surprise.
“Didn’t you see Deerfoot throw his tomahawk?” asked Joseph.