as named me witch and
_natdahe_, outlaw of the mountains. Therefore do I come to name names in
my turn. Hear me, People: This Deklay--he would walk among you as
_'izesnantan_, a great chief--but he does not have the _go'ndi_, the
holy power of a chief. For this Deklay is a fool, with a head filled by
nothing but his own wishes, not caring for his clan brothers. He says he
leads you into safety; I say he leads you into the worst danger any
living man can imagine--even in peyote dreams! He is one twisted in his
thoughts, and he would make you twisted also----"

Buck cut in sharply, hushing the murmur of the massed clan.

"These are bold words, Fox. Will you back them?"

Travis' hands were already peeling off his shirt. "I will back them," he
stated between set teeth. He had known since his awakening after the
stoning that this next move was the only one left for him to make. But
now that the testing of his action came, he could not be certain of the
outcome, of anything save that the final decision of this battle might
affect more than the fate of two men. He stripped, noting that Deklay
was doing the same.

Having stepped into the center of the glade, Nolan was using the point
of his knife to score a deep-ridged circle there. Naked except for his
moccasins, with only his knife in his hand, Travis took the two strides
which put him in the circle facing Deklay. He surveyed his opponent's
finely muscled body, realizing that his earlier estimate of Deklay's
probable advantages were close to the mark. In sheer strength the other
outmatched him. Whether Deklay was skillful with his knife was another
question, one which Travis would soon be able to answer.

They circled, eyes intent upon each move, striving to weigh and measure
each other's strengths and weaknesses. Knife dueling among the
Pinda-lick-o-yi, Travis remembered, had once been an art close to
finished swordplay, with two evenly matched fighters able to engage for
a long time without seriously marking each other. But this was a far
rougher and more deadly game, with none of the niceties of such a
meeting.

He evaded a vicious thrust from Deklay.

"The bull charges," he laughed. "And the Fox snaps!" By some incredible
stroke of good fortune, the point of his weapon actually grazed Deklay's
arm, drawing a thin, red inch-long line across the skin.

"Charge again, bull. Feel once more the Fox's teeth!"

He strove to goad Deklay into a crippling loss of temper,