stood regarding one another with looks of rage,
and took the knives off their necks. Neither spoke a word. Each
understood the other, and with flashing eyes watched to take an
advantage. They were both powerful men, well matched in size and age,
and equally armed, so that upon fortune and skill, more than upon
brute strength, the result was likely to depend.

Presently, each grasping the knife in his right hand, and bending
over, ready for a spring, they began, with eyes fixed on one another,
to move round and round, watching for a favorable opportunity to make
the fatal dart. Thus, occasionally increasing the rapidity of their
movements, then relaxing their swiftness again, they moved in circles
several times, but without drawing within striking distance. The
thought occurred to both of throwing the knife, which, if skilfully
done, might terminate the contest, but the consideration that if the
stroke failed, the unsuccessful combatant would be left at the mercy
of the other, deterred from the hazardous experiment. After various
feints and stratagems foiled, by mutual cunning the two foes stopped,
as if by agreement, to devise more effectual schemes of destruction.
In this truce of a moment, the eyes of Quecheco fell upon a tomahawk
lying near the feet of his opponent, and unobserved by him. His
efforts were now directed to getting possession of the weapon, and he
re-commenced the system of attack he had practised. It was no
difficult thing, by a series of retreats and advances, and constant
changes of position, to entice the Pequot, ignorant of the other's
design, from the place whereon he stood, and presently the foot of
Quecheco touched the missile. The movement of his foe's limbs in
searching for the tomahawk had caught the notice of Towanquattick, and
before it was touched by Quecheco's foot he had seen it. At the sight,
throwing aside the caution he had practised, the Pequot sprung
straight at his enemy, and, without seeking to protect himself,
plunged his knife into the breast of Quecheco. The force of the blow
threw the stooping savage upon his back, and before he could rise, the
tomahawk, caught from the ground by the hand of the Pequot, crashed
into the brain of the dying traitor. Drawing out, then, the knife, the
Pequot, with a rapid turn that indicated a practised hand, passed it
round the head of his foe, and tearing off the bloody trophy, hung it
at his girdle. A little while the Pequot stood contemplating