"Now, see that ye do us credit, lad," said Joe.

"I'll try," answered Dick.

In a moment they were off. The young Indian rolled away the hoop,
and Dick threw his dart with such vigour that it went deep into the
ground, but missed the hoop by a foot at least. The young Indian's
first dart went through the centre.

"Ha!" exclaimed Joe Blunt to the Indians near him, "the lad's not used
to that game; try him at a race. Bring out your best brave--he whose
bound is like the hunted deer."

We need scarcely remind the reader that Joe spoke in the Indian
language, and that the above is a correct rendering of the sense of
what he said.

The name of Tarwicadia, or the little chief, immediately passed from
lip to lip, and in a few minutes an Indian, a little below the medium
size, bounded into the arena with an indiarubber-like elasticity that
caused a shade of anxiety to pass over Joe's face.

"Ah, boy!" he whispered, "I'm afeard you'll find him a tough
customer."

"That's just what I want," replied Dick. "He's supple enough, but he
wants muscle in the thigh. We'll make it a long heat."

"Right, lad, ye're right."