drew, and shot. The arrow, lighter than he had reckoned, stuck its head more than a foot below the mark, although on a good line with it. “Sasketup” viewed the result with supreme contempt, and the comments of his companions were, while unintelligible to David, plainly unflattering.
“Arrow him too short,” said a voice behind him, and David turned to see Sequanawah, his captor of two days ago. Sequanawah took an arrow from one of the larger boys and held it forth. “You try um,” he said. David had better fortune this time, for the arrow struck less than an inch above the mark. “Winnet!” grunted the boys and “Good shoot,” said Sequanawah.
Several of the youths crowded about David and offered their arrows for him to try, but he shook his head, laughing, thinking it well to stop before he had, by a worse shot, destroyed what renown he had gained. The lad who had challenged scowled crestfallenly as David turned away and called a shrill taunt after him. The words David did not know, but their meaning was evident enough: “I dare you to try again, Englishman!”
To David’s surprise, Sequanawah accompanied him to the wigwam and there squatted
