"And if you defy me to a bout with bowl or bottle I will not turn
coward, neah-wen-ha [I thank you]! but I will drink with you and let my
father judge whose legs best carry him to bed! Koue! Answer me, my
cousin, Tahoontowhe [the night hawk]."

We were laughing now, yet I knew she had spoken seriously, and to plague
her I said: "You boast like a Seminole chanting the war-song."

"I dare you to cast the hatchet!" she cried, reddening.

"Dare me to a trial less rude," I protested, laughing the louder.

"No, no! Come!" she said, impatient, unbolting the heavy door; and,
willy-nilly, I followed, meeting the pack all sulking on the stairs, who
rose to seize me as I came upon them.

"Let him alone!" cried Dorothy; "he says he can outcast me with the
war-hatchet! Where is my hatchet? Sammy! Ruyven! find hatchets and come
to the painted post."

"Sport!" cried Harry, leaping down-stairs before us. "Cecile, get your
hatchet--get mine, too! Come on, Cousin Ormond, I'll guide you; it's the
painted post by the spring--and hark, Cousin George, if you beat her
I'll give you my silvered powder-horn!"

Cecile and Sammy hastened up, bearing in their arms the slim
war-hatchets, cased in holsters of bright-beaded hide, and we took our
weapons and started, piloted by Harry through the door, and across the
shady, unkempt lawn to the stockade gate.