lder. His body, a dull
brown in colour, showed smoother than that of his enemy, the muscles
not having been brought out by unremitted exercise. Yet under that
bulk of flesh there lay no man might tell how much of awful vigour.
The loop of the war club would not slip over his great hand. He caught
it in his fingers and made the weapon hum about his head, as some
forgotten ancestor of his, tall Navajo, or forgotten cave dweller, may
have done before the Spaniard came. The weapon seemed to him like a
toy, and he cast his eye about for another more commensurate with his
strength, but, seeing none, forgot the want, and in the sheer ignorance
of fear which made his bravery, began the fight as though altogether
careless of its end.

White Calf was before his people, whose chief he was by reason of his
personal prowess, and with all the vanity of his kind he exulted in
this opportunity of displaying his fitness for his place. Yet in him
natural bravery had a qualifying caution, which was here obviously well
justified. The Mexican made direct assault, rushing on with battle axe
poised as though to end it all with one immediate blow. With guard and
parry he was more careless than the wild bull of the Plains, which
meets his foe in direct impetuous assault. White Calf was not so rash.
He stepped quickly back from the attack, and as the _mozo_ plunged
forward from the impulse of his unchecked blow, the Indian swept
sternly at him with the full force of his extended arm. The caution of
the chief, and the luck of a little thing, each in turn prevented the
ending of the combat at its outset. Half falling onward, the Mexican
slipped upon a tuft of the hard gray grass and went down headlong. A
murmur arose from the Indians, who thought at first that their leader's
blow had proved fatal. A sharp call from Curly seemed to bring the
Mexican to his feet at once. The Indian lost the half moment which was
his own. Again the two engaged, White Calf now seeking to disconcert
the Mexican, whom he discovered to be less agile than himself. Darting
in and out, jumping rapidly from side to side, and uttering the while
the sharp staccato of his war call, he passed about the Mexican, half
circling and returning, his eye fixed straight upon the other's, and
his war club again and again hurtling dangerously close to his
opponents head. One shade more of courage, one touch more of the
daring necessary to carry him a single foot closer in,