ity came. He knew that Tandakora was a great bowman, but he
had supreme confidence in his own skill against anybody. Nothing stirred
where his enemy lay and no sound came from the little camp, which was
beyond the reach of the words they had uttered.

A quarter of an hour, a half hour, an hour passed, and neither moved,
showing all the patience natural to the Indian on the war path. Then
Tayoga shook a bush a few feet from him, but Tandakora divined the
trick, and his arrow remained on the string. Another quarter of an hour,
and seeing some leaves quiver, Tayoga, at a chance, sent an arrow among
them. No sound came back, and he knew that it had been sped in vain.

Then he began to move slowly and with infinite care toward the right,
resolved to bring the affair to a head. At the end of twenty feet he
rustled the bushes a little once more and lay flat. An arrow flew over
his head, but he did not reply, resuming his slow advance after his
enemy's shaft had sped. Another twenty feet and he made the bushes move
again. Tandakora shot, and in doing so he exposed a little of his right
arm. Tayoga sent a prompt arrow at the brown flesh. He heard a cry of
pain, wrenched in spite of his stoical self from the Ojibway, and then
as he sank down again and put his ear to the ground came the sound of
retreating footsteps.

The affair, unfinished in a way, so far as the vital issue was
concerned, was concluded for the present, at least. Ear and mind told
Tayoga as clearly as if eye had seen. His arrow had ploughed its path
across Tandakora's arm near the shoulder, inflicting a wound that would
heal, but which was extremely painful and from which so much blood was
coming that a quick bandage was needed. Tandakora could no longer meet
Tayoga with the bow and arrow and so he must retreat. Nor was it likely
that his first wound was yet more than half healed.

The Onondaga waited until he was sure his enemy was at least a half mile
away, when he rose boldly and approached the place where Tandakora had
last lain hidden. He detected at once drops of dark blood on the leaves
and grass, and he found his arrow, which Tandakora had snatched from
the wound and thrown upon the ground. He wiped the barb carefully and
replaced it in his quiver. Then he followed the trail at least three
miles, a trail marked here and there by ruddy spots.

Tayoga did not feel sorry for his enemy. Tandakora was a savage and an
assassin, and he deserved this new hurt