was not to his taste. However, the brave was growing impatient and sneering openly as he believed he read the other's hesitancy. With a flash of his hand Lander drew Papa Clair's gift knife and stood on guard.
The Indians exclaimed in admiration as they beheld the weapon. The haft was embellished with much silver of Spanish workmanship and there was a fretwork of the white metal on the upper half of the big blade.
Lander's opponent endeavored to rush in and bewilder his man with repeated onslaughts. His point streaked back and forth, all but ripping the skin above the eyes. For a minute Lander worked only on the defensive. Then anger grew up in his heart and calmed his nerves and he stopped giving ground and began advancing. Each forward step was taken with a precision that suddenly stilled the chorus of jeers. And as he advanced he formed his purpose and drove his man toward the river. His blade parried and menaced but refrained from touching the painted breast, although it was obvious to the spectators it could have been fleshed to the hilt several times.
The Indian suspected he was being played with
