ne was unmistakable. There was a stirring along the line, as though
a snake rustled in the grass. The horse-holders were crowding up
closer. There were bows drawn forward over the shoulders of many young
men, and arrows began to shiver on the string under their itching
fingers. Once more Franklin felt that the last moment had come, and he
and Battersleigh still pressed back to the wagons where the rifles lay.

The Indian chief raised his hand and came forward, upon his face some
indescribable emotion which removed it from mere savagery, some
half-chivalrous impulse born perhaps of a barbaric egotism and
self-confidence, perhaps of that foolhardy and vain love of risk which
had made White Calf chief of his people and kept him so. He stood
silent for a moment, his arms folded across his breast with that
dramatic instinct never absent from the Indian's mind. When he spoke,
the scorn and bravado in his voice were apparent, and his words were
understood though his speech was broken.

"Big chief!" he said, pointing toward Juan. "White Calf, me big
chief," pointing to himself. "Heap fight!" Then he clinched his hands
and thrust them forward, knuckles downward, the Indian sign for death,
for falling dead or being struck down. With his delivery this was
unmistakable. "Me," he said, "me dead; white man go. Big chief"
(meaning Juan), "him dead; Injun heap take horse," including in the
sweep of his gesture all the outfit of the white men.

"He wants to fight Juan by himself," cried Franklin.

"Yes, and b'gad he's doin' it for pure love of a fight, and hurray for
him!" cried Battersleigh. "Hurray, boys! Give him a cheer!" And,
carried away for the moment by Battersleigh's own dare-deviltry, as
well as a man's admiration for pluck, they did rise and give him a
cheer, even to Sam, who had hitherto been in line, but very silent.
They cheered old White Calf, self-offered champion, knowing that he had
death in a hundred blankets at his back.

The meaning of the white men was also clear. The grim face of White
Calf relaxed for a moment into something like a half-smile of pride.
"Heap fight!" he repeated simply, his eyes fixed on the vast form of
the babbling giant. He dropped his blanket fully back from his body
and stood with his eyes boring forward at his foe, his arms crossed
arrogantly over his naked, ridging trunk, proud, confident, superb, a
dull-hued statue whose outlines none who witnessed ever again forgot.