But Nick had seen Indians wrestle too often to allow himself to be caught in that manner.
He showed an agility surprising in so old a man.
With a movement even quicker than that of the Indian, he side-stepped, and, before his foe could recover his balance, he had grasped him round the shoulders in a clever hold that left him little chance to break away.
After swaying to and fro for a few moments, he forced the redskin backward until his shoulders fairly touched the ground.
The Indians were dumb with intense surprise for a second or two, and then they hailed the victory with loud whoops of delight. Leaping Dog, being a surly fellow, was not popular in the tribe. As the wrestling champion he had always been overbearing in his manner, and they were therefore glad to see his pride meet with a fall.
“Quits!” cried Nick. “Now fur the rubber!”
Leaping Dog got to his feet, looking angry and crestfallen. There was an expression of fierce vindictiveness in his eyes as he faced Wharton for the final bout.
Before they could clinch, Red Cloud rushed in between them, put his hand down to the brave’s belt, and pulled out a knife, which he tossed to the ground at Buffalo Bill’s feet.
There was nothing wrong in the fellow having the knife. All the braves were wearing one, as they commonly did; but Red Cloud had caught that evil look in Leaping Dog’s eyes, and he thought that the man might be tempted to use his weapon, if he were worsted again.