STACY AS AN INDIAN FIGHTER
In the meantime there was a lively scrimmage going on near the
"Have-a-chicken" circle. The stones of the circle had been kicked
away, the younger savages forming a human ring about the combatants.
Afraid Of His Face was much the superior of the fat boy in physical
strength, but he knew nothing of the tricks of the boxer. Therefore
Stacy had played a tattoo on the face of the Indian before the latter
woke up to the fact that he was getting the worst of it.
In an unguarded moment the young buck put a smashing blow right on
Stacy's nose, now extremely sensitive from its near boiling in the
"Hole In The Wall."
Not being fast enough in the get away, the young buck received on his
own face some of the blood that spurted from Brown's nose.
"Ow-wow!" wailed Chunky, rendered desperate by the severe pain at this
tender point. But his rage made him cooler. Chunky made a feint.
As Afraid Of His Face dodged the feint Stacy bumped the young
Indian's nose.
"Have another," offered Stacy dryly, as his left drove in a blow that
sent the young Indian to his back on the turf. Frightened screams came
from some of the young Indian girls, who gazed dismayed at the human
whirlwind into which Stacy had been transformed.
"Ugh!" roared Afraid Of His Face, and reached his feet again. "Ugh!
Boy heap die! Plenty soon!"
Again the combatants closed in. There was a rattling give-and-take.
"Here! Stop that!" ordered Professor Zepplin, striding forward. The
chief and his Indians were coming up also. The chief caught at one of
the Professor's waving arms and drew him back.
"Let um fight," grunted the chief. He next spoke a few guttural words
of command to his own people, who fell back, giving the combatants
plenty of room.
"Yes, let 'em have it out!" roared the boys. "Stacy never will learn
to behave, but this ought to help."
Stacy, having it all his own way with his fists, now received a kick
from the buck that nearly ended the fight.
"Wow! That's your style, is it?" groaned Chunky, then he ducked, came
up and planted a smashing blow on the buck's jaw that sent the latter
fairly crashing to earth.
That ended the fight. Afraid Of His Face made a few futile struggles
to get to his feet, then lay back wearily. Chunky puffed out his chest
and strutted back and forth a few times.
"Huh!" grunted Chick-a-pan-a-gi. "Fat boy heap brave warrior."
"You bet I am. But it's nothing. You ought to see me in a real fight."
"Hurrah for Chunky!" shouted Ned Rector. "Hip, hip, hurrah!"
Professor Zepplin now strode forward, laying a heavy hand on the fat
boy's shoulder.
"Ouch!" groaned Chunky. "Don't do that Don't you know I haven't any
skin on my body?"
"You don't deserve to have any. Be good enough to explain how this
trouble arose?"
The chief was asking the same question of the other young savages in
his own language and they were telling him in a series of guttural
explosions.
"It was this way, I was playing the game with them when I stepped on
Elephant Face's foot. He didn't like it. I guess he has corns on his
feet as well as on his face. He punched me. I punched him back. Then
the show began. We had a little argument, with the result that you
already have observed," answered Stacy pompously.
"You needn't get so chesty about it," rebuked Ned.
"Chief," said the Professor, turning to Chick-a-pan-a-gi, "I don't
know what to say. I am deeply humiliated that one of our party should
engage in a fight with---"
"I didn't engage in any fight," protested Stacy. "It wasn't a fight,
it was just a little argument."
"Silence!" thundered the Professor.
"I trust you will overlook the action of this boy. He was very much
excited and-----"
"Fat boy him not blame. Fat boy him much brave warrior," grunted the
chief. "Afraid Of His Face he go ha-wa. Stay all day, all night. Him
not brave warrior."
The chief accentuated his disgust by prodding his homely son with the
toe of a moccasin. Afraid Of his Face got up painfully, felt gingerly
of his damaged nose, and with a surly grunt limped off toward his own
ha-wa, there to remain in disgrace until the following day.
"Fat boy come smoke pipe of peace," grunted the chief.
"No, thank you. No more pieces of pipe for mine. I've had one
experience. That's enough for a life time," answered Stacy.
"Stacy, if I see any more such unseemly conduct I shall send you home
in disgrace," rebuked the Professor as they walked back to the village.
"The boy wasn't to blame, Professor," interceded Dad. "The buck pitched
into him first. He had to defend himself."
"No, don't be too hard on Chunky," begged Tad. "You must remember that
he wasn't quite himself. First to be boiled alive, then set upon by
an Indian, I should say, would be quite enough to set anyone off his
balance."
The Professor nodded. Perhaps they were right, after all. So long as
the chief was not angry, why should he be? The chief, in his
unemotional way, seemed pleased with the result of the encounter.
But Professor Zepplin, of course, could not countenance fighting.
That was a certainty. With a stern admonition to Chunky never to
engage in another row while out with the Pony Rider Boys, the Professor
agreed to let the matter drop.
The day was well spent by that time, and the party was invited to pass
the night in the village, which they decided to do. The chief gave
the Professor a cordial invitation to share his ha-wa with him, but
after a sniff at the opening of the hovel Professor Zepplin decided
that he would much prefer to sleep outside on the ground. The others
concluded that they would do the same. The odors coming from the
ha-was of the tribe were not at all inviting.
After sitting about the camp fire all the evening, the Pony Rider Boys
wrapped themselves in their blankets and lay down to sleep under the
stars with the now gloomy walls of the Canyon towering above them, the
murmur of the silvery Havasu in their ears.