The North American Indian is treacherous by nature, and will take any advantage over a foe, no matter what its nature. The Sauk had failed to bring down Deerfoot by the same unscrupulous means he had employed in other instances, but he was on the watch to repeat his tactics.

When uttering the taunt which brought about the personal collision, he flung his gun from him, and seized the handle of his tomahawk, as if with the purpose of throwing that also aside, the manner of his challenge implying that he meant the battle should be fought with the knives alone. Even the sagacious Deerfoot did not suspect him for the moment, when, on the point of grasping his knife, as he did when defying Tecumseh, the Sauk drew back his tomahawk and hurled it with incredible swiftness at the head of Deerfoot. There was a vicious spitefulness in the act which sent the missile as if fired from a gun.

Nothing could have attested the Shawanoe's miraculous activity and quickness of eye so clearly as did the ease with which he dodged the weapon. The flirt of his head was like that of the loon which dives below the path of the bullet after it sees the flash of the gun. The tomahawk struck the ground, went end over end, flinging the dirt and leaves about, and after ricocheting a couple of times, whirled against the trunk of a small sapling and stopped.

The act placed the two on the same footing. Each held only his hunting-knife. The treachery of the Sauk took place without a word being spoken either by himself or his foe. It was unnecessary, for there could be nothing to say.

Having avoided the tomahawk, Deerfoot advanced upon Hay-uta with his knife grasped in his left hand, while the Sauk did precisely the same thing as regarded him.

They were stripped for the fight, and were in deadly earnest. The Sauk had learned of the panther-like agility of the Shawanoe, and he knew no light task was before him. It would not be child's play to wrench the scalp-lock from the crown of the handsome warrior who was not afraid of any man, but Hay-uta was warranted in feeling a strong confidence in his own strength and prowess.

The warriors approached each other with the watchfulness of a couple of gladiators, seeking each others' lives for the sake of giving amusement to a Roman populace. Both slightly crouched, with their heads bent forward, their eyes fixed, while they stepped softly about, seeking an opening into which the keenly-pointed hunting knife might be driven with a furious vigor, that would render a second blow useless.

The situation was one where the slightest forgetfulness or mishap would prove fatal to him who made it. Both realized the fact, and did their utmost to guard against it.

When a couple of yards separated the combatants, they approached no closer, but began slowly circling around each other in the same stealthy fashion. The action of the Sauk convinced Deerfoot that his enemy had no friends in that section, for, if any were within call, he would have summoned them before the quarrel had gone so far. He could have called any one to his help by signal, and neglect to do so was proof that there was none to summon. Had Hay-uta done anything of the kind, Deerfoot would have leaped upon him and ended the battle in a twinkling.

Partly around, and then back again, the two seemed to oscillate, their motions corresponding so closely that it was as if both were moved by the same delicate machinery between them.

Suddenly Deerfoot feinted, like a skillful boxer, with the hand which grasped his knife. The vigilant Sauk was equally quick to parry and counter. He was as spry as a cat, and never once took his burning eyes from the face of the hated youth. Then he feinted in turn, and the Shawanoe, by his action, showed he was prepared for any demonstration, no matter what.

These preliminaries continued several minutes, when Deerfoot, in moving to the left, caught the toe of his moccasin in some obstruction and stumbled. He threw up his arms, as one will instinctively do, and for a single second was off his guard, though he recovered with incredible quickness. Any spectator of the strange combat would have given a gasp of terror, for the instant the stumble took place, the Sauk bounded forward with upraised knife and brought it down with a sweep like that of a panther's paw.

But what seemed an accident on the part of Deerfoot was done with deliberate intent. He wearied of the idle circling, and, confident of his own ability to outwit his antagonist, he dropped his guard for the very purpose of drawing out the other. Hay-uta was so certain of his own triumph that he made the mistake which the skillful fighter never makes; he drew upon his own strength and self-poise by emitting a shout of exultation; but the downward sweeping arm clove vacancy only, and ere he could recover he was struck in the chest by the head of Deerfoot, who butted him with the force of a Japanese wrestler, sending the warrior several feet over on his back. The shock was so unexpected, as well as tremendous, that the knife flew from his hand, and he nearly fainted from sheer weakness.

Inasmuch as Deerfoot was able to butt him in that style, it will be admitted that it would have been equally easy for him to have buried his knife to the hilt in the body of his enemy, but he chose not to do so. Instead, he quietly picked up the weapon and held one in each hand, while the Sauk was entirely disarmed. The latter had been frightfully jarred. The blow in the stomach fairly lifted him off his feet and drove the wind from his lungs. He lay for a moment, with his lips compressed, his body griped with pain, and with no more ability to defend himself than an infant. He kept his black eyes fixed on the youthful conqueror while writhing, and the latter stood off several paces and calmly confronted him, as though viewing the natural phase of such a contest.

But the Sauk was quick to recover, and his old enmity seemed to blaze up with ten-fold intensity.

"The Shawanoe is a buffalo," said he, from behind his gleaming paint; "he fights like the buffalo when his foe is stronger and braver than he."

Deerfoot flung the knife of the warrior to him.

"The Shawanoe will fight as a buffalo no more; he will now use his knife; let the Sauk do what he can."

A brave warrior could take no exception to this declaration, accompanied as it was by such significant action; but it cannot be conceived that the Sauk was free from misgiving, when knowing, as he did, that he held the position of contestant only through the grace of his youthful antagonist, who a moment before could have pierced his heart with his hunting knife.

Having displayed the character of a battering ram, Deerfoot now assumed another.

"The Sauk is afraid of Deerfoot; he dare not attack him until he stumbles; Deerfoot's heart was oppressed with pity when he saw the fear of Hay-uta, and he stumbled that it might give Hay-uta the courage the Great Spirit did not give him."

These were taunting words, but, convinced they were spoken with the purpose of disturbing his self-possession, the Sauk only compressed his lips the tighter, and held himself ready to seize the first chance that presented itself. His recent experience had taught him a lesson which he could not forget.

Bending his knees until he assumed a crouching posture, the Sank centered his burning gaze on the face of Deerfoot, drew back his lips until his white teeth showed like those of a wild cat, and uttered a tremulous, sibilant sound, as if he were a serpent ready to burst with venom.

If he meant to frighten Deerfoot he failed, for the mishap of the Sauk was too recent to allow such impression to be made. The figure of the crouching warrior was startling in its hideousness, but there was never a moment from the opening of the singular contest, when the young Shawanoe did not feel secure in his mastery of the situation.

The feinting and retreating went on several minutes longer, when all at once Deerfoot caught an expression, which the paint on the face of his antagonist could not hide, that showed he had resolved on forcing the fight to a conclusion. A couple of quick feints followed, and then Hay-uta leaped forward, meaning to force Deerfoot to the earth. Had the Shawanoe remained quiet, such would have been the result, but he was too supple to be entangled in that manner. He withdrew, so that when his enemy landed on the spot, he found himself still confronted by the defiant youth, who had recoiled but the single step necessary to escape the blow. Hay-uta, without a second's pause, bounded toward him again, and brought down his right arm like a flash; but, as before, it cleft the empty air, and the youth confronted him with his shadowy smile and defiant expression.

Then, as if feeling he had retreated far enough, the Shawanoe advanced on his muscular foe, who drew back as if to brace himself for the assault. Deerfoot uttered no sound, but when he bounded lightly from the ground, Hay-uta knew the crisis had come; the trifling had ended.

The Shawanoe, when close enough to strike, made a dozen circular sweeps of his good left hand, as though he had rested it on the rim of a wheel that was spinning with bewildering swiftness. No eye could follow the knife in its circlings. There was one smooth gleam like the polished periphery of the "driver" of a locomotive.

The foes, as is always the case, looked straight in each other's eyes, but every limb and portion of the body, being in the field of vision, was clearly seen. The peculiar act of Deerfoot produced the effect intended. The vision of Hay-uta became confused and dizzy, and before he could rally the Shawanoe struck his blow.

He could have killed the other as easily as he would have slain a bear, but he chose not to do so. Instead, he brought his fist down on the upper part of his right wrist with a quick violence, which, for the second time, knocked the knife from the grasp of the more sinewy warrior. So deftly was the trick done that the weapon of the Sauk flew a dozen feet straight up in the air, turning rapidly end over end and falling between the two.

If Hay-uta was subject to the will of Deerfoot a minute before, it will be seen that now he was helpless. He had been again disarmed, while the lithe youth still grasped his own weapon with the power to drive it home whenever he so willed.

The last act of Deerfoot accomplished its purpose. Hay-uta at first was self-confident; again, he was hopeful; but the latter time he was disarmed, his confidence vanished. He saw that much as he had despised the youth whose life he sought, he was his inferior in every respect. He was no match for him in a fight, nor could he approach him in his peerless woodcraft. The question of supremacy was settled forever.

Slowly recoiling a couple of steps, he folded his arms, and, with a dignity that was touching, said, in a slow, deliberate voice, with his softened gaze fixed on the countenance of his conqueror:

"Hay-uta is a dog whose teeth have fallen out; he can fight no more; he is ashamed to go back to his people; the son of a pale face who is there, when he learns the truth, will point his finger at him and laugh; Hay-uta cannot go to his lodge; let Deerfoot bury his knife in his heart!"

"Deerfoot seeks not the life of Hay-uta; had he wished it, he could have had it long ago; but Deerfoot is a Christian; he will do Hay-uta no harm."