The blade, however, swished through air, and the youth smote the chief squarely in the mouth with the back of his fist. He could have used his knife, but he chose to play awhile with this boaster. He delivered his blow so quickly that the Blackfoot, accustomed as he was to fierce hand-to-hand fighting, had no time to dodge or parry, and the next instant the Shawanoe was ten feet away, weapon still grasped, and grinning at the slightly dazed chief. "Why does not the Blackfoot squaw strike the Shawanoe? The Shawanoe has struck _him_. Cannot the Blackfoot see where to strike with his knife? He is as slow as an aged woman, but he fears the Shawanoe, who is his master." Taggarak could not believe his failure was anything more than one of those accidents to which the most skilful fighter is sometimes liable. His weapon was still firm in his hand, and he moved forward again, taking shorter and more stealthy steps. He crouched as if gathering his muscles for a leap, while the Shawanoe contemptuously watched him, alert and observant as a cat. Six feet away the chief halted. Deerfoot did not stir. Taggarak had learned of the lightning-like quickness of the youth, but felt none the less certain of speedily overcoming him. For a full minute the two glared at each other, neither speaking, but the same aggravating, scornful smile was on the face of the young Shawanoe. Suddenly he did an astounding thing. He tossed his knife several feet up in the air, caught it by the handle as it came down and then flung it a couple of rods to one side. "The Shawanoe needs no weapon to conquer the Blackfoot squaw!" Then Deerfoot voluntarily placed himself in front of the furious warrior, without any weapon with which to defend himself. Not only that, he folded his arms over his breast and with biting irony added: "Now let the Blackfoot think he has a squaw in front of him; then he will strike hard, if his hand does not tremble." It was more than flesh and blood could stand. The passion within the breast of the chief broke into a volcano-like flame. With a hissing gasp he sprang forward, striking swiftly with his knife, first downward, then upward and then from side to side, as if he meant to cut the execrated youth into ribbons. He repeated the wild blows with a celerity that almost prevented the eye from following the movements.