Again his speech was greeted by the laughter of the Indians, to whom it was interpreted by the disguised white man. "So you think I will not fight, eh? You think I am a squaw, do you?" said Ted quietly. The Indian only laughed. "I will show you who is the squaw. I will thrash you with my quirt until you cry out with pain. You may keep your gun. I am not afraid of it." "Now you begin to talk a little like a man. But you won't fight. Little pony, you are ridden by a squaw. Why don't you throw him off and come to me, who is a fighter?" "Fellows, stand fast," said Ted to the boys. "I'm going to give that young buck such a licking as he never thought possible. If they don't play fair, shoot." Ted threw his rifle to Ben, so that he would not be burdened by it, and rode toward the Indian, who also threw his weapon to one of his followers. In his right hand he carried a long, braided Indian whip of thongs. It was a cruel weapon, for the Indian is cruel to everything in his power, from his squaw to his dog. This he grasped firmly in his right hand, and awaited Ted's coming with a satirical smile on his face. Ted had been coming on quietly, but when he was a few feet from Crazy Cow he suddenly gave Bingo the spur, and the astonished horse reached the Indian's side in two jumps. Without a moment's hesitation Ted reached forward and grasped the Indian by a collar of leather which he wore laced around his throat, somewhat after the fashion of the white linen chokers worn by young white men. Furiously the young Indian lashed out with his quirt, which struck Ted across the shoulders, and made him wince with the burning sharpness of it. But Ted was back at him like a flash, and his quirt sang through the air and slapped upon the buckskin shirt worn by the Indian. Crazy Cow, whom the lash had not hurt in the least, only laughed. Ted saw that he might go on thrashing the Indian all day upon his shirt, and that it would have no more effect than if he whipped a covering of iron. The other Indians also saw the humor of the situation, and joined in the laughter. Meantime, the Indian was plying his quirt with all his force, and every time the lash struck Ted across the shoulders or neck it left a blue welt. Whipping fights are common among the Indian lads, and are merely tests of courage, and the power to endure pain without crying out. The Indian boy who cries out unexpectedly at some particularly stinging blow is called a squaw, and sent into Coventry by the others for varying lengths of time, during which none of them will speak to him. Crazy Cow had often indulged in the whipping sport, and knew how to wield the quirt most effectively. So the battle of the quirts went on, the blows falling as fast as their arms could fly, but Ted plainly was getting the worst of it on account of the protection which the buckskin shirt gave the Indian.