With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga

by W. Bert Foster

Enoch had long been considered the best wrestler among the boys of his age. Although Lot was older and taller than him, he threw the bigger boy easily. Crow Wing had quite as easily worsted young Breckenridge; but when the Indian and Enoch finally faced each other in the ring the latter gritted his teeth and determined to put forth every ounce of strength, and use every legitimate trick he knew, to beat his antagonist.

He had recovered his wind now and felt fresh and strong. He measured the lithe form of Crow Wing before the word was given and saw that, although the Indian was doubtless stronger than he in the legs and through the loins, where much of the strain comes in a wrestling match, his own arms and shoulders were much better. Crow Wing ran a great deal, or walked. He was on the trail almost continually, and thus his leg muscles were splendidly developed. Whereas the white boy swung an axe or wielded a hoe almost every day and the upper part of his body was in excellent condition. He saw that if he could seize Crow Wing quickly and with a first effort overpower him, the victory would be his.

So he went into the wrestling match with the intention of getting a “down” at once, and the first round was over almost before Crow Wing knew what Enoch was about. “A fair fall! a fair fall!” cried the boys, and danced about the pair as it was seen that both Crow Wing’s hips and his shoulders were squarely on the turf. The Indian rose slowly, evidently much surprised by the white boy’s tactics. If he was angry he did not show it. His face was as passive as ever.

“Quick work that,” said Bolderwood. “You’ll have to wake up, Crow Wing, if you want to get the best of Nuck.”

“Hurrah for Nuck!” shouted the boys.

But the second trial was another matter. Crow Wing approached warily. He feinted several times and then leaped away when Enoch tried to seize him as he had before. He had felt the power of the white boy’s muscles, and he did not propose to allow a second quick stroke. Enoch followed him around the ring and finally clutched him, but at arms’ length. It was not a good hold; he knew it on the instant. But he had as good a chance as Crow Wing and there they were, swaying to and fro, and panting for several minutes, before either obtained the advantage.

Finally the Indian lad forced Enoch over his leg and slowly, yet determinedly, pushed him backward to the ground. When they fell Crow Wing was on top, but it was several moments ere he managed to force Enoch’s shoulders and hips to the earth together. The second round was declared won by Crow Wing and the boys took a rest before the third and final one. Enoch was glad to see that his antagonist suffered as much as he did this time, laboring for breath and with his face and arms covered with perspiration. When Bolderwood called them for the third round the Indian flung off his hunting shirt, thus showing that he considered the white boy a worthy antagonist indeed.

Enoch was more confident than before. He saw that he could not repeat his first quick throw; but he would not be deceived again into getting any uncertain hold. Crow Wing continued his former tactics, but Enoch simply followed him about, feinting as well as the Indian, and at last, when Crow Wing ran in, thinking he had a chance for an under hold, he caught him like a young bear and hugged him to his chest until the breath was fairly forced from the other’s lungs. Although taller than the white boy the Indian was not so heavy and this display of muscle startled him. With one arm caught between his own body and Enoch’s he could do little to help himself and Enoch squeezed hard before he let him go. Then, with a quick toss, stooping as he made it, Enoch flung him, long legs and all, over his shoulder, and before Crow Wing could rise he was upon him and held him down. The Indian was so breathless that it was a small matter for Enoch to get the “four points” necessary to win the fall and he rose at last triumphant.

The boys and girls cheered him and Bolderwood said he was a good wrestler, and then Crow Wing, who had slipped into his shirt again, came to him and said, with a still impassive face: “Umph! white boy big wrestler–beat Crow Wing fair!” He held out his hand gravely and, after shaking Enoch’s, stalked away while the others were busy, his absence being unnoticed until it came time to go up to the house for supper. “Guess he didn’t like being licked,” said Robbie Baker to Enoch. “You better look out for him, Nuck. My pa says them Injins is as treacherous as wolves.”

But somehow Enoch felt that Crow Wing was a better friend to him than he had been before. Something in the Indian’s handshake seemed to have told him this. The supper was quite as good as the boys had expected. After the meal they shot at a target under ’Siah Bolderwood’s direction and Robbie Baker, son of the greatest shot in the settlement, as was expected, bore off the honors. The company went home through the forest trails by moonlight and thus ended a long and happy day, in which much that was useful had been accomplished as well as a “good time” enjoyed.