and foot were
advanced, the right fist being held across and just in front of the
breast, ready to take advantage of the first opening that presented
itself.

As Deerfoot circled around Terry, the latter moved around him, each on
the alert for a chance.

"Moind yer eye," Terry was kind enough to say; "it's a pity to sp'il
such a handsome face, but a sinse of dooty will not allow me to thrifle,
and so here goes!"

With that he made a creditable lunge with his left, instantly following
it with his right hand, and leaping back to avoid a counter. He did not
strike Deerfoot nor did he receive a blow in return.

"Ye are quick on yer faat and very good at dodgin', but it is an
obligation ye owe to yersilf and to America to show whither thim foin
purty hands can hit----"

_Rap, whack, spat!_ The Shawanoe smote one cheek of Terry, then the
other, and then his mouth, the blows being so quick that they seemed to
be simultaneous. At the moment they were delivered, the Irish lad could
not see that the young warrior had stirred. He appeared to be moving in
his cat-like way around him, but beyond reach of Terry's own tough
fists. Seeing that he must force matters, he made a furious rush for his
antagonist.

You must not set down Terry Clark as an awkward fellow who went into the
contest without any skill. His father in his younger days was one of the
best fighters in the north of Ireland, and he had taught considerable of
his science to his only son, who gave an exhibition of what he could do
when he smote the Winnebago that was swinging the cow-bell. There was
not a lad anywhere near his years in Greville whom he could not master.

Deerfoot knew nothing of the modern rules of self-defense. His
superiority lay in his unequaled dexterity and quickness. It was that,
as you will recall, which enabled him to win so many victories over foes
who were his superior in every other respect.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

AMERICA VERSUS AMERICA.

Terence Clark gathered himself for another rush and blow at the
Shawanoe, when the latter with a quickness which the eye of Fred Linden
could hardly follow, ducked under the arm of the Irish lad and again
struck him a resounding blow with the flat of the hand, first on one
side of the face and then on the other. Terry wheeled and returned the
blows with skill. Once his hand grazed the black hair that was dangling
about Deerfoot's head, and several times he touched the nodding
feathers, but str