The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1903-09-30

the quill gorget heavlng at his mas
sive throat; the heavy blanket slung
neglgently, gracefully about his stall
wart form; his neither limbs and feet
IN embroidered buckslin, his long
dashed quirt in hand; here stood, al
most confronting him, as fine spec
linen of the warrior of the plains as
it had been Trooper Kenncdy's lot
to see, and see them he had-many
time and oft.
How, john" said he, with an Irish
mans easy insolence, "Lookin' for a
chance to steal somethin'-is it?"
And then Kennedy was both amazed
and enrapturcd at the prompt reply
in the fervent English of the far
frontier.
go to hell, you pock-marked SON
of-a-scut! Where'd you steal your
whisky?"
For five seconds Kennedy thought
he was dreaming. Then, convinced
that he was awake, an Irishman
scorned and insulted, he dashed into
the attack. Both fists shot out from
the brawny shoulders; both missed
the agile dodger; then off went the
blanket, and with two lean, red,
sinewy arms the Sioux had 'locked
his foeman round" and the two were
straining and swaying in a magnifi-
cent grapple. At arms length Pat
could easily have had the best of it,
for, the Indian never boxes; but, in
bear hug and a wrestle, all chances
favored the Sioux. Cursing and strain
ing, honors even on both for while,
Connaught and wild Wyoming strove
for the mastery. Whisky is won
derful starter but mighty poor
slayer of a fight. Kennedy loosed
his grip from time to time to batter
wildly with his clinched fists at such
sections of Sioux anatomy as he
could reach; but, at range so close,
his blows lacked both swing and
steam, and fell harmless on sinewy
back and lean, muscular tanks. Then
he tried Galway hitch and trip, but
his 1.-the antagonist knew trick
worth ten of that. Kennedy tried
many time next day to satisfac-
torily account for it, but never
with success. He found himself
speedily on the broad of his back,
gasping for breath with which to
keep up his vocal defiance, staring
up into the glaring, vengeful black
eyes of his furious and triumphant
foeman And then in one sudden,
awful moment, he realized that the
Indian was reaching for his knife.
Another instant it cleaned aloft in
the moonlight, and the poor lad shut
his eyes against the swift and deadly
blow. Curses changed to one word
less prayer to heaven for pity and
help. He never saw the glittering
blade go spinning through the air,
Vaguely, fainting, he heard stern
young voice ordering ''Hold, there!"
then another, silvery voice, crying
something in strange tongue, and
was conscious that an unseen power
had loosed the fearful grip on his
throat; next, that, obedient to that
same power-one he dare not ques-
tion-the Indian was struggling slow
ly to his feet, and then, for few
seconds Kennedy scared away into
cloudland, knowing naught of what
was going on about him. When he
came to again, he heard a confused
murmur of talk about him and grew
dimly aware that his late antagonist
was standing over him, painting still
and slightly swaying. and that an
officer, young athlete, was saying
rebukeful words. Well he knew him,
as what trooper of the til did not?
Lieut.. Beverly Field; but, seeing
the reopened eyes it was the Indian
again who sought to speak. With
uplifted hand he turned from the
rescuer to the rescued.
RIO Be Continued