in which he manipulated the weapon showing
that he was left-handed.

The face was strikingly fine, the nose being slightly aquiline, the
cheek bones less prominent, and the whole contour more symmetrical than
is generally the case with his race. There was something in the
situation that evidently amused him, for Terry saw him smile so
unmistakably that he noticed his small and regular white teeth.

It was plain that he was watching the movements of the Winnebago, though
he said nothing, and made no gesture to the lad, whose wondering look he
must have understood. Be that as it may, the sight of the strange
Indian, and the belief that he was an enemy of the other with the
cow-bell, inspired the Irish lad with a courage that he would not have
known had the other warrior been absent.

"He's waiting to see how I condooct mesilf when the spalpeen lays hands
on me," thought Terence; "he won't have to wait long."

The youth was right. The crouching Winnebago, doubtless feeling that he
had no immediate use for the bell that had served him so well, dropped
it to the ground beside him, and holding only his rifle in hand, stepped
forward with the same cat-like tread that had marked his advance from
the first. He knew that his victim was shrinking behind the trunk of the
oak, and he was having his own peculiar sport with him.

So intense was the attention of Terry that he heard distinctly the
footsteps of the warrior, who a moment later was close enough to touch
the tree with his hand, had he been so minded.

CHAPTER V.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

Terry Clark, the Irish lad, placed his right foot behind the left, his
weight equally supported on both, and stood as rigid as iron, with both
fists clinched and half raised, in the attitude of one holding himself
ready to use nature's weapons to his utmost ability.

He heard the soft moccasin press the layer of brown autumn leaves, and
the next moment the point of a knobby, painted nose came slowly in sight
around the side of the trunk, followed by the sloping forehead, the
hideous face and the shoulders of the warrior, whose right hand was held
so far to the rear with the gun that it was the last to come into view.

As the Winnebago caught sight of the white-faced boy, his countenance
was disfigured by a grin that made it more repulsive than before.

"Oogh! brudder!--oogh!--Yenghese--"

Just then Terry Clark let fly. He was a lusty lad, and he landed both
fists, one after