move away from the fire, Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who had been
having a little amusement at their expense, advanced from the gloom and
addressed them.

"The heart of Deerfoot is glad when he sees his brothers do not sleep;
he has watched them, but their eyes are open."

"Wal, be the powers!" muttered Terry Clark, hastily rising to his feet,
as did Fred; "the spalpeen that plays that trick on me has got to fight
it out."

And he began taking off his coat and spitting on his hands, to show that
the matter could only be settled by a bout at fisticuffs. Deerfoot had
extended his hand to Fred and he smiled at the combative Irish lad, who
put up his fists and began dancing about him in the most belligerent
fashion.

"Give him a trial," whispered Fred, with a laugh.

"Deerfoot loves his brothers; he can not hurt them."

"If ye can git the bist of mesilf," said Terry, who was still sawing the
air and hopping about as though the ground had become hot; "I'll think
more of ye than iver before, bein' that I think more of ye now than I
ever can, and I defy ye to sit your gun aside and git the bist of me in
any way."

"Go for him," urged Fred, knowing that the Irish boy, strong and active
as he was, had no chance with the Shawanoe; "he thinks he is your
master when you don't use your weapons. If you will give him a lesson,
it will do him good."

"Deerfoot will try to be a teacher to my brother," said the Shawanoe
gravely, handing his gun to Fred, and following with his knife and
tomahawk, that he might have no weapons except such as nature gave him.
Then he threw some wood on the fire, so that the space immediately
surrounding them was as light as noonday. Finally, every thing being
ready, he proceeded to "go for" Mr. Terence Clark in a truly aboriginal
fashion.

Now, it must be borne in mind that, though there was and could not be
the least ill feeling between the youths, yet each was resolutely
resolved to overcome the other in the most emphatic manner at his
command. Terry did not mean to batter the handsome face of his dusky
friend, but to tap it so smartly that he would feel it. The naturally
combative lad was an adept with his fists, and he meant to strike
Deerfoot often enough to convince him of his inferiority. Then he would
rush in, seize the young warrior and throw him to the ground, repeating
it several times, until his antagonist cried, "Hold! Enough!" Fred
Linden was to play the part of referee, and decide whi