"I am going to get that devil this time, Jerry," he breathed."He dragged me by the neck once.I will show him something."Jerry laid his hand upon his arm.At a little distance from them there was a sound of creeping steps.A few moments they waited and at their side the brush began to quiver.A moment later beside Cameron's face a hand carrying a rifle parted the screen of spruce boughs.Quick as a flash Cameron seized the wrist, gripping it with both hands, and, putting his weight into the swing, flung himself backwards; at the same time catching the body with his knee, he heaved it clear over their heads and landed it hard against a tree.The rifle tumbled from the Indian's hand and he lay squirming on the ground.Immediately as Jerry sprang for the rifle a second Indian thrust his face through the screen, caught sight of Jerry with the rifle, darted back and disappeared with Jerry hard upon his trail.Scarcely had they vanished into the brush when Cameron, hearing a slight sound at his back, turned swiftly to see a tall Indian charging upon him with knife raised to strike.He had barely time to thrust up his arm and divert the blow from his neck to his shoulder when the Indian was upon him like a wild cat.
"Ha! Copperhead!" cried Cameron with exultation, as he flung him off."At last I have you! Your time has come!"The Sioux paused in his attack, looking scornfully at his antagonist.He was dressed in a highly embroidered tight-fitting deerskin coat and leggings.
"Huh!" he grunted in a voice of quiet, concentrated fury."The white dog will die.""No, Copperhead," replied Cameron quietly."You have a knife, Ihave none, but I shall lead you like a dog into the Police guard-house."
The Sioux said nothing in reply, but kept circling lightly on his toes waiting his chance to spring.As the two men stood facing each other there was little to choose between them in physical strength and agility as well as in intelligent fighting qualities.
There was this difference, however, that the Indian's fighting had ever been to kill, the white man's simply to win.But this difference to-day had ceased to exist.There was in Cameron's mind the determination to kill if need be.One immense advantage the Indian held in that he possessed a weapon in the use of which he was a master and by means of which he had already inflicted a serious wound upon his enemy, a wound which as yet was but slightly felt.To deprive the Indian of that knife was Cameron's first aim.
That once achieved, the end could not long be delayed; for the Indian, though a skillful wrestler, knows little of the art of fighting with his hands.
As Cameron stood on guard watching his enemy's movements, his mind recalled in swift review the various wrongs he had suffered at his hands, the fright and insult to his wife, the devastation of his home, the cattle-raid involving the death of Raven, and lastly he remembered with a deep rage his recent humiliation at the Indian's hands and how he had been hauled along by the neck and led like a dog into the Indian camp.At these recollections he became conscious of a burning desire to humiliate the redskin who had dared to do these things to him.
With this in mind he waited the Indian's attack.The attack came swift as a serpent's dart, a feint to strike, a swift recoil, then like a flash of light a hard drive with the knife.But quick as was the Indian's drive Cameron was quicker.Catching the knife-hand at the wrist he drew it sharply down, meeting at the same time the Indian's chin with a short, hard uppercut that jarred his head so seriously that his grip on the knife relaxed and it fell from his hand.Cameron kicked it behind him into the brush while the Indian, with a mighty wrench, released himself from Cameron's grip and sprang back free.For some time the Indian kept away out of Cameron's reach as if uncertain of himself.Cameron taunted him.
"Onawata has had enough! He cannot fight unless he has a knife!
See! I will punish the great Sioux Chief like a little child."So saying, Cameron stepped quickly toward him, made a few passes and once, twice, with his open hand slapped the Indian's face hard.
In a mad fury of passion the Indian rushed upon him.Cameron met him with blows, one, two, three, the last one heavy enough to lay him on the ground insensible.
"Oh, get up!" said Cameron contemptuously, kicking him as he might a dog."Get up and be a man!"Slowly the Indian rose, wiping his bleeding lips, hate burning in his eyes, but in them also a new look, one of fear.
"Ha! Onawata is a great fighter!" smiled Cameron, enjoying to the full the humiliation of his enemy.
Slowly the Indian gathered himself together.He was no coward and he was by no means beaten as yet, but this kind of fighting was new to him.He apparently determined to avoid those hammering fists of the white man.With extraordinary agility he kept out of Cameron's reach, circling about him and dodging in and out among the trees.
While thus pressing hard upon the Sioux Cameron suddenly became conscious of a sensation of weakness.The bloodletting of the knife wound was beginning to tell.Cameron began to dread that if ever this Indian made up his mind to run away he might yet escape.
He began to regret his trifling with him and he resolved to end the fight as soon as possible with a knock-out blow.
