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One, two, three hard blows staggered Silvertip, and a fourth, delivered with the force of Joe's powerful arm, caught the Indian when he was off his balance, and felled him, battered and bloody, on the grass. The surrounding Indians looked down at the vanquished Shawnee, expressing their approval in characteristic grunts.
He was frantic with fury, and tried to get at Joe; but Silvertip remained in front of his captive until some of the braves led Girty into the forest, where the tall chief had already disappeared. The nose-pulling incident added to the gayety of the Shawnees, who evidently were pleased with Girty's discomfiture.
He is a great fish eater, for fish are very plentiful in the streams in the country where he lives. Big as he is, he has learned to fear man just as Silvertip has. Occasionally when surprised he has been known to attack man and kill him, but as a rule he will run at the first hint of man's approach. "The last of the Bear cousins is Snow King the Polar Bear. Snow King is king of the Frozen North.
"Big paleface heap fun all squaw play," he said, scornfully. There was a menace in his somber eyes as he turned abruptly and left the group. "I'm afraid you've made an enemy," said Jake Wentz to Joe. "An Indian never forgets an insult, and that's how he regarded your joke. Silvertip has been friendly here because he sells us his pelts. He's a Shawnee chief. There he goes through the willows!"
Exerting all his power, he wrenched the Indian's arm so that it was not only dislocated, but the bones cracked. Silvertip saw his fatal mistake, but he uttered no sound. Crippled, though he was, he yet made a supreme effort, but it was as if he had been in the hands of a giant. The lad handled him with remorseless and resistless fury.
They jabbered among themselves and nodded approvingly at Joe, until a few words spoken by Silvertip produced a sudden change. What the words were Joe could not understand, but to him they sounded like French. He smiled at the absurdity of imagining he had heard a savage speak a foreign language. At any rate, whatever had been said was trenchant with meaning.
Blind with rage, Silvertip leaped up, and without a weapon rushed at his antagonist; but the Indian was not a boxer, and he failed to get his hands on Joe. Shifty and elusive, the lad dodged around the struggling savage.
"A mine!" muttered Swing Tunstall. "A gold mine! And I thought they wanted it for a ranch." "So did I," Racey nodded. "I know that mine," said Jake Rule. "Silvertip Ransom and Long Oscar drove the tunnel, done the necessary labour, got their patent, and sold out when they couldn't get day wages to old Dale for one pony and a jack. But Dale never worked it. A payin' lode! Hell!
The center of the floor itself, as she could see, of hand-smoothed logs was lightened with a great black and red and yellow rug of curious weave. Covering up the bare surface surrounding it were bearskins, black and brown. Her feet rested in the fur of a monster silvertip, fur thicker and softer than the pile of any carpet ever fabricated by man. All around the walls ran shelves filled with books.
"Run acrost yer trail two days back." "And you've been following us?" The hunter nodded. "Did you see anything of another band of Indians? A tall chief and Jim Girty were among them." "They've been arter me fer two days. I was followin' you when Silvertip got wind of Girty an' his Delawares. The big chief was Wingenund. I seen you pull Girty's nose.
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