nd await his doom.

Deerfoot was not the one to prolong the wretchedness of another, no
matter if his most deadly enemy. He stood with his left foot slightly
advanced and his muscles gathered, so that he did not require the
slightest preparation, and, having held the pose just long enough to
make sure it had produced its full effect, he slowly lowered the
tomahawk, keeping his eyes fixed on his enemy. When the weapon was at
his side, he said:

"The Sauk is a wolf; he steals behind the hunter that he may leap on his
shoulders when he sleeps; but the hunter heard the sound of his claws on
the leaves and turned upon him."

These words were uttered in the mongrel tongue of the Sauk, for
Deerfoot, after a careful inspection of the painted warrior, was quite
sure he belonged to that restless and warlike tribe. He had encountered
the people before, though at rare intervals, and he had hunted with a
pioneer who was familiar with the tongue. The youth detected so many
resemblances to other aboriginal languages with which he was familiar
that he quickly mastered it and could speak it like a native.

The warrior, as has been said, was a brawny savage, well on toward
middle life. He was attired in the usual fashion among the Indians, his
dress looking slouchy and untidy. His straggling black hair, instead of
being ornamented with eagle feathers, was gathered in a knot, so as to
form what is often called a scalp-lock, and to proclaim the fact that
the wearer of the same challenged any one to take it if he could.
Besides his long rifle, he carried his knife and tomahawk, after the
manner of his people. He would have proved a dangerous foe in a
hand-to-hand struggle, but he was deprived of whatever advantage he
might have possessed by being taken at such overwhelming disadvantage.

He caught every word uttered by Deerfoot, who had not mistaken his
totem. He had no thought that the youth intended to show him mercy, but
believed he was indulging in a little preliminary sermonizing--so to
speak--before claiming his scalp for the ridge-pole of his wigwam.

The words of Deerfoot served to awaken the Sauk from his paralysis, and,
throwing his head back, he said:

"The Sauk is no wolf; the Shawanoe is the fox that steals upon the
hunting grounds of the Sauks."

"The lands that stretch to the rising and setting sun belong not to the
Shawanoe nor Sauk nor Huron, but the Great Spirit, who loves his
children to chase the buffalo and hun