The Hunters of the Ozark by Edward Sylvester Ellis (books to read romance txt) 📕

below the belt. What I wished to observe, howiver, is that we ain't to recognize such things as foul blows in this fight for the championship of Louisiana. Aich one is to git the bist of the ither in the bist way he can. The rule, Deerfut, is for such pugilists to shake hands before beginnin' to try to knock aich ither out."

And Terry extended his hand, which the young warrior gravely shook, for, as you can well understand, this was something to which he was altogether unaccustomed. He knew, however, the nature of the contest between himself and his doughty Irish friend, and he entered into it with the calm confidence with which he would have engaged Tecumseh himself in a fight to the death with knives.

Deerfoot did not put up his hands after the manner of a pugilist, nor did he even close them, but fixing his eyes on those of Terry (just as he always did in his deadly fights with his antagonists), he began softly circling about him, like a cat searching for a chance to leap upon his prey.

This did not disconcert Terry, whose pose would have been pronounced excellent by any one competent to judge. The left arm and foot were advanced, the right fist being held across and just in front of the breast, ready to take advantage of the first opening that presented itself.

As Deerfoot circled around Terry, the latter moved around him, each on the alert for a chance.

"Moind yer eye," Terry was kind enough to say; "it's a pity to sp'il such a handsome face, but a sinse of dooty will not allow me to thrifle, and so here goes!"

With that he made a creditable lunge with his left, instantly following it with his right hand, and leaping back to avoid a counter. He did not strike Deerfoot nor did he receive a blow in return.

"Ye are quick on yer faat and very good at dodgin', but it is an obligation ye owe to yersilf and to America to show whither thim foin purty hands can hit----"

_Rap, whack, spat!_ The Shawanoe smote one cheek of Terry, then the other, and then his mouth, the blows being so quick that they seemed to be simultaneous. At the moment they were delivered, the Irish lad could not see that the young warrior had stirred. He appeared to be moving in his cat-like way around him, but beyond reach of Terry's own tough fists. Seeing that he must force matters, he made a furious rush for his antagonist.

You must not set down Terry Clark as an awkward fellow who went into the contest without any skill. His father in his younger days was one of the best fighters in the north of Ireland, and he had taught considerable of his science to his only son, who gave an exhibition of what he could do when he smote the Winnebago that was swinging the cow-bell. There was not a lad anywhere near his years in Greville whom he could not master.

Deerfoot knew nothing of the modern rules of self-defense. His superiority lay in his unequaled dexterity and quickness. It was that, as you will recall, which enabled him to win so many victories over foes who were his superior in every other respect.


CHAPTER XXXVI.

AMERICA VERSUS AMERICA.

Terence Clark gathered himself for another rush and blow at the Shawanoe, when the latter with a quickness which the eye of Fred Linden could hardly follow, ducked under the arm of the Irish lad and again struck him a resounding blow with the flat of the hand, first on one side of the face and then on the other. Terry wheeled and returned the blows with skill. Once his hand grazed the black hair that was dangling about Deerfoot's head, and several times he touched the nodding feathers, but strive as much as he might, he could not reach the fellow himself.

Now that the combat may be said to have opened, it went through to the end without halt or break. Here, there, everywhere dodged and struck the Shawanoe, while Terry was always just too late to catch him. Deerfoot might have inflicted considerable injury upon his plucky antagonist, had he struck him with his closed hand, but he always used his open palm. Some of the blows resounded like pistol shots. Having delivered all that he wished, Deerfoot doubled up his left hand so that only the index finger was extended. With this he punched the right and left ribs of Terry, then his chest, and then actually flipped each side of his nose, easily dodging the blows which the half angered Irish lad aimed at him in return.

Suddenly Terry turned his back on his foe and deliberately struck several times at vacancy. Then he dropped his hands and walked back by the fire, saying, with a shake of his head:

"I've enough! ye could bate the divil and his uncle."

Fred Linden was sitting on the ground shaking with laughter. He had not seen any thing for a long time that pleased him so much. He had observed Terry in more than one fight with the boys at home and he knew he was an ugly customer, as full of grit as a bull dog, but the Shawanoe struck him fully a dozen times, while the Irish lad with all his skill desperately put forth never once touched him. The discomfiture of the brave Irish lad was complete.

No witness of the bout, however, could have failed to admire the skill and pluck of Terry. He acquitted himself well and kept up the struggle, even after he was convinced that he could do nothing with his alert antagonist. Then, when Deerfoot began to trifle with him, he turned around as I have shown and struck the empty air.

"Why did you do that?" asked Fred, as the three stood by the fire discussing the incident.

Terry passed his open hand over his cheeks, which were red and smarting from the sharp taps of Deerfoot, and closing one eye and scratching his head, made answer:

"I had been sthrikin' at Deerfut until I obsarved that ivery time I sthruck _at_ him I didn't hit him; so thinks I to mesilf, I will see whither I can hit him by tryin' not to hit him; so I sthruck where I knowed he wasn't, thinkin' he was there."

"Well, I must declare Deerfoot the winner."

"I can't deny that he is; I throw up the sponge and extind to him the best wishes for himself and family."

Smiling in a way that left no doubt of his relish of the incident, Deerfoot warmly shook the hand of his friend, whose brave fight had increased his admiration of him.

"My brother is brave," said he admiringly; "perhaps he can lay Deerfoot on his back; Deerfoot will rejoice if he can do so."

"Be the powers! but that suits me," exclaimed the delighted Terry; "I forgot we were to have a wrestling match; Fred, ye will be koind enough to sarve as riferee again; we'll take side holts and it'll be the bist two out of thraa."

Terry was warranted in feeling more confidence in this test of skill. He had failed--as he knew he would always fail--in a sparring contest, for the reason that Deerfoot was so quick that he could not touch him; but one of the necessities of a wrestling match is that the contestants shall first seize each other. Terry believed that he had as much physical strength as Deerfoot, and if he once got a fair hold, he would not let go until he downed him.

Terry being right and Deerfoot left handed, each was able to secure his most effective grip. So, standing side by side, in the old fashioned style, with a dusky left arm around the white neck and a white arm around the dusky neck, they began the struggle.

In this match, as before, Deerfoot allowed his antagonist to dally with him awhile before he took the aggressive. Passing him over his hip Terry gave Deerfoot such a violent fling that a pang of fear shot through him, lest he had broken the Shawanoe's neck; but though he shot headlong out of the grasp of the Irish lad, the Shawanoe landed lightly on his feet and instantly leaped back and closed with Terry again.

"I'll fetch ye this time," he muttered between his compressed lips; "ye shan't git out of me hands till ye's down flat on yer back and mesilf layin' a-straddle of ye. There's a difference between boxin' and sparrin' and I shall taich ye the same, as me grandmither--"

Both went down that instant, but the Shawanoe was on top. His antagonist could not have fallen flatter had he been dropped from the roof of a house.

"Mark the first fall for Deerfut," called out Terry, hastily clambering to his feet, the Shawanoe extending his hand to help.

This result weakened the confidence of the Irish lad in himself, that is, so far as concerned his opponent. He reflected that many of the Indians are skillful wrestlers, and while Deerfoot had had no training in boxing, he had in the other art. Such a cool headed athlete would be sure to learn fast. Terry recognized the peculiar flirt by which he had been turned off his feet as the very trick he had played successfully on his playmates at home, but which he never dreamed was known to Deerfoot.

The Irish lad tried every possible lock, twist and turn upon his rival, but he could not get him off his feet. It seemed to Terry that he whirled in the air when almost on the ground, and that if he had been dropped head downwards from the height of a rod, he would alight on his feet.

Fred saw Deerfoot, who was carefully watching his antagonist, smile, and he knew what was coming. So deftly that, for the life of him, the spectator could not see how it was done, Terry went over again as "flat as a flounder." Not only that, but to the astonishment of the victim as well as of the witness, the Shawanoe remained erect, so that he literally flung his antagonist to the ground and looked smilingly down upon him.

"Ye can baat the baaters," exclaimed Terry, rising to his feet, and shaking hands with his victor. "I niver met any one who could down me in that sthyle. I don't know how ye did the same, but I haven't any doubts that ye done it, as me great uncle remarked whin the cannon ball took off his head."

With the same shadowy smile Deerfoot looked inquiringly at Fred Linden.

"Deerfoot thinks maybe his brother would be glad to lay him on the ground?"

"I'll be hanged if I don't try it," laughed Fred, springing to his feet, and instantly but cautiously closing arms with the graceful warrior.

"My brother can not throw Deerfoot," said the latter; "but the heart of Deerfoot would be glad if he would tell him how he would like to fall--on his shoulders, or side, or back."

"I wouldn't like to fall at all; but if you think you can get me on my shoulders, just try it; that's all."

"It shall be as my brother wishes."

The words seemed yet in the mouth of Deerfoot when Fred felt himself sailing through space, and the next instant he landed on his shoulders with a shock that Terry declared made the ground shake.

As before, Deerfoot himself did not fall,