The Hunters of the Ozark | Page 9

him at once, he could bring him down with his rifle.
You know how rare a thing it is for an Irishman to submit meekly, even
when there is no hope in resistance. Terry muttered:
"If he lays hands on me, there's going to be a fight; I wish Fred was
near, that he could see that I git fair play."
No person could have been more in earnest than was the Irish lad.
"I'll wait till his head comes round the corner of that tree and then I'll
give him a whack that'll tumble him over on his back, afore he knows
what's the matter wid him; then I'll amuse myself wid hammerin' him
after he is down till I git tired and then I'll take his gun and knife and

tomahawk and the bell and make him walk before me to the
sittlement."
The lad had just gone over in his mind this roseate programme, when a
soft tinkle told him that the Winnebago was within a few steps of the
tree; and at the same moment that the youth made this interesting
discovery, another still more astonishing one broke upon him.
Just fifty feet away and behind a trunk very similar to the one that
sheltered the lad, stood a second Indian warrior. His position was such
that he was in plain view of Terry, though the Winnebago could not see
him except when the latter should approach quite close to the shelter of
the boy. The strange Indian was closely watching the hostile one, and,
with that remarkable intuition that sometimes comes to a person in
grave crises, Terry was convinced that he was an enemy of the
Winnebago, though whether a friend of the youth was not so certain.
In his amazement, the lad for the moment forgot his own danger and
gave his attention to the stranger, who was the most striking looking
warrior he had ever seen. He seemed to be about eighteen or twenty
years of age, and was the picture of manly grace and beauty.
He had long, luxuriant black hair which hung about his shoulders,
being gathered by a loose band at the neck, so as to keep it from getting
in front of his eyes. In the crown of this natural covering were thrust
three stained eagle feathers, while there were two rows of colored
beads around the neck. The fringed hunting shirt which reached almost
to his knees was of a dull, yellow color and the sash or belt around the
waist was of a dark red. A small but handsome bracelet encircled his
left wrist, and the fringes of his leggins were of varied and brilliant
hues, as were the beaded moccasins that incased his shapely feet. A
tomahawk and knife were in his girdle, while he held a finely
ornamented rifle in his right hand, the manner in which he manipulated
the weapon showing that he was left-handed.
The face was strikingly fine, the nose being slightly aquiline, the cheek
bones less prominent, and the whole contour more symmetrical than is
generally the case with his race. There was something in the situation

that evidently amused him, for Terry saw him smile so unmistakably
that he noticed his small and regular white teeth.
It was plain that he was watching the movements of the Winnebago,
though he said nothing, and made no gesture to the lad, whose
wondering look he must have understood. Be that as it may, the sight of
the strange Indian, and the belief that he was an enemy of the other
with the cow-bell, inspired the Irish lad with a courage that he would
not have known had the other warrior been absent.
"He's waiting to see how I condooct mesilf when the spalpeen lays
hands on me," thought Terence; "he won't have to wait long."
The youth was right. The crouching Winnebago, doubtless feeling that
he had no immediate use for the bell that had served him so well,
dropped it to the ground beside him, and holding only his rifle in hand,
stepped forward with the same cat-like tread that had marked his
advance from the first. He knew that his victim was shrinking behind
the trunk of the oak, and he was having his own peculiar sport with
him.
So intense was the attention of Terry that he heard distinctly the
footsteps of the warrior, who a moment later was close enough to touch
the tree with his hand, had he been so minded.
CHAPTER V.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
Terry Clark, the Irish lad, placed his right foot behind the left, his
weight equally supported on both, and stood as rigid as iron, with both
fists clinched and half raised, in the attitude of one holding himself
ready to use