ive as much as he might, he could not reach the fellow
himself.

Now that the combat may be said to have opened, it went through to the
end without halt or break. Here, there, everywhere dodged and struck the
Shawanoe, while Terry was always just too late to catch him. Deerfoot
might have inflicted considerable injury upon his plucky antagonist, had
he struck him with his closed hand, but he always used his open palm.
Some of the blows resounded like pistol shots. Having delivered all that
he wished, Deerfoot doubled up his left hand so that only the index
finger was extended. With this he punched the right and left ribs of
Terry, then his chest, and then actually flipped each side of his nose,
easily dodging the blows which the half angered Irish lad aimed at him
in return.

Suddenly Terry turned his back on his foe and deliberately struck
several times at vacancy. Then he dropped his hands and walked back by
the fire, saying, with a shake of his head:

"I've enough! ye could bate the divil and his uncle."

Fred Linden was sitting on the ground shaking with laughter. He had not
seen any thing for a long time that pleased him so much. He had observed
Terry in more than one fight with the boys at home and he knew he was an
ugly customer, as full of grit as a bull dog, but the Shawanoe struck
him fully a dozen times, while the Irish lad with all his skill
desperately put forth never once touched him. The discomfiture of the
brave Irish lad was complete.

No witness of the bout, however, could have failed to admire the skill
and pluck of Terry. He acquitted himself well and kept up the struggle,
even after he was convinced that he could do nothing with his alert
antagonist. Then, when Deerfoot began to trifle with him, he turned
around as I have shown and struck the empty air.

"Why did you do that?" asked Fred, as the three stood by the fire
discussing the incident.

Terry passed his open hand over his cheeks, which were red and smarting
from the sharp taps of Deerfoot, and closing one eye and scratching his
head, made answer:

"I had been sthrikin' at Deerfut until I obsarved that ivery time I
sthruck _at_ him I didn't hit him; so thinks I to mesilf, I will see
whither I can hit him by tryin' not to hit him; so I sthruck where I
knowed he wasn't, thinkin' he was there."

"Well, I must declare Deerfoot the winner."

"I can't deny that he is; I throw up the sponge and extind to him the
best wishes for himself