another, squarely in the painted face, with such force
that the warrior was knocked completely off his feet. He went over
backward as though from the kick of a horse; but, contrary to the hopes
of his assailant, he did not let go of his gun. Had he done so, the
youth would have caught it up and shot him before he could regain his
feet.

The blow was most presumptuous, and would have insured the death of the
one who gave it but for the intervention of the second Indian, who
seemed to take but a couple of bounds from the tree near which he was
standing when he landed on the spot. The infuriated Winnebago was in the
act of clambering to his feet, when he caught sight of the lithe,
graceful warrior, standing only a couple of steps away, with loaded
rifle pointed at him.

"Dog of a Winnebago," he said in a voice slightly above an ordinary
tone; "if he harms the pale face, he shall die!"

There are some expressions so forcible that they can not be made more
so. The young Indian spoke in the lingo of the Winnebago, whose totem he
had recognized, but his posture, erect on his feet, with his cocked
rifle in such a position that he had only to pull the trigger to send
the bullet through the bronzed skull before him;--all this required no
words of explanation. The Winnebago grasped the situation, and, to use
the homely expression common at this day, he saw that the other "had the
drop" on him.

The Indian, though larger, older, heavier and stronger, was taken at
such disadvantage that he ceased his effort to rise, and looked up at
his conqueror with a helplessness so grotesque that under other
circumstances it would have caused a smile. Indeed, Terry Clark did
indulge in a slight laugh, for he saw that it was safe to do so; the
Winnebago was on the ground before his master.

"If ye want me to ring the old coow-bell, I'll be glad to obleege, for
the performance looks as if a little moosic would give tone to the same.
Howsumever, I'll step back and let this good looking young gintleman run
the show."

Thereupon Terry withdrew several paces and watched the proceedings with
a depth of interest that can be fully understood.

The look of the Winnebago, who was half reclining on his side,
supporting his body with the hand that grasped his gun, plainly
indicated the question that came from his lips.

"Why does my brother look with evil eyes on the Wolf, who has come from
the lodges of the Winnebagos? Are not all red men brother