The grip of the Antelope, who, it will be remembered, was taller than George, suddenly tightened and he bore our young friend backward. But the latter kept his feet and braced for the struggle to fling the other forward on his face, which was made the next instant. Then the seesawing went on for several seconds and with the same alternating abruptness as before, when the young Indian put forth his utmost power to lift the other off his feet. Had he succeeded, he would have had no trouble in flinging him forward on his back or face, for a person can do little when kicking in the air with his feet clear of the earth. George defeated his enemy by also lifting. With both straining in the same manner neither could succeed, and the weight of both remained on the ground. Then the Antelope ceased his effort, with the intention of trying some “lock” of which the white boy knew nothing. [Illustration: The Anglo-Saxon Every Time.] But this was the opportunity for which George Shelton was waiting. In the instant of the cessation by his antagonist, the watchful lad suddenly put forth every ounce of strength and lifted the young Indian clear. He strove desperately to regain his footing, but his shabby moccasins vainly trod the air, and before he could recover his grip George hurled him violently forward on his side. He struck the ground with a shock that made it tremble. George lay across his body, from which the breath was driven. Never was fairer fall seen. The young Shoshone was defeated so decisively that, had there been an official umpire or referee, no appeal could have been made to him. “Good! Good!” exclaimed the delighted Victor, dancing with delight and clapping his hands. “I’ll own you for my brother, George. _I_ couldn’t have done better.” Mul-tal-la grinned, for he could not conceal his pleasure. The spectators, including Young Elk, looked savage, and the brow of Black Elk was like a thundercloud. No one spoke, but all must have thought volumes. Having thrown his rival, George Shelton lay across him for a few moments, then leaped up, sprang back several paces, and turning to Mul-tal-la, said: “Tell him, if he wants it, I’ll give him another chance.” “No; my brother has won his gun.” At the same moment Black Elk reached to the warrior holding the rifle, and, taking it from him, strode to where George Shelton was standing and handed it back without a word. Thus far the chief was certainly disposed to act fairly. “Thank you for giving me what is mine,” said the exultant youth, bowing so low and smiling so broadly that the chief must have understood he was receiving thanks, even though none of the words was intelligible. “Now, Victor,” added George, turning to his brother as he stepped beside him, “I’ll say to you what you said to me—that is, that if you don’t get the best of that grinning imp, who is eager to pummel you, you’re no brother of mine.”