and the victory
had been with him, for no human skull could have withstood the impact
of a pound of flint impelled by an arm so powerful.

Juan the _mozo_ stood almost motionless, his own club half raised, the
great muscles of his arm now showing under the brown skin as he
clinched hard the tiny stem of the weapon. He seemed not perturbed by
the menaces of the chieftain, and though unaware that the latter must
in time suffer from the violence of his own exertions, nevertheless
remained the fuller master of his own forces by simply waiting in this
one position. His readiness for offence was the one defence that he
offered. His brute courage had no mental side. The whistling of this
threatening weapon was unheeded, since it did not hurt him. He glared
in fury at the Indian, but always his arm remained half raised, his
foot, but shifted, side stepping and turning only enough to keep him
with front toward his antagonist. The desperate, eager waiting of his
attitude was awful. The whisper of the wings of death was on the air
about this place. The faces of the white men witnessing the spectacle
were drawn and haggard. A gulp, a sigh, a half groan now and again
came from their parted lips.

White Calf pursued his rapid tactics for some moments, and a dozen
times sped a blow which still fell short. He gained confidence, and
edged closer in. He feinted and sprang from side to side, but gained
little ground. His people saw his purpose, and murmurs of approval
urged him on. It seemed that in a moment he must land the fatal blow
upon his apparently half-stupefied opponent. He sought finally to
deliver this blow, but the effort was near to proving his ruin. Just
as he swung forward, the giant, with a sudden contraction of all his
vast frame, sprang out and brought down his war axe in a sheer downward
blow at half-arm's length. White Calf with lightning speed changed his
own attack into defence, sweeping up his weapon to defend his head. On
the instant his arm was beaten down. It fell helpless at his side, the
axe only hanging to his hand by means of the loop passed around the
wrist. A spasm of pain crossed his face at the racking agony in the
nerves of his arm, yet he retained energy enough to spring back, and
still he stood erect. A cry of dismay burst from the followers of the
red champion and a keen yell from the whites, unable to suppress their
exultation, Yet at the next moment the partisans of either had