"Before you spoke I knew you were Girty," answered Joe quietly.
"How d'you know? Ain't you afeared?"
"Of what?"
"Me--me?"
Joe laughed in the renegades face.
"How'd you knew me?" growled Girty. "I'll see thet you hev cause to
remember me after this."
"I figured there was only one so-called white man in these woods who
is coward enough to strike a man whose hands are tied."
"Boy, ye're too free with your tongue. I'll shet off your wind."
Girty's hand was raised, but it never reached Joe's neck.
The big Indian had an hour or more previous cut Joe's bonds, but he
still retained the thong which was left attached to Joe's left
wrist. This allowed the young man free use of his right arm, which,
badly swollen or not, he brought into quick action.
When the renegade reached toward him Joe knocked up the hand, and,
instead of striking, he grasped the hooked nose with all the
powerful grip of his fingers. Girty uttered a frightful curse; he
writhed with pain, but could not free himself from the vise-like
clutch. He drew his tomahawk and with a scream aimed a vicious blow
at Joe. He missed his aim, however, for Silvertip had intervened and
turned the course of the keen hatchet. But the weapon struck Joe a
glancing blow, inflicting a painful, though not dangerous wound.
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