but driving his missiles right and left, with the merciless accuracy and the power of an arrow from his bow, or a bullet from his rifle. So lightning-like were his throws that neither the man nor the boys were able to dodge them, unless they widened the space between themselves and their master. Deerfoot's last missile cracked like a pistol when the ball impinged against the side of Mul-tal-la's head, and the latter gave up the contest.
This left only the boys. The Shawanoe hastily fashioned a couple of balls, and with one in either hand started for the brothers, who called out, "Enough!" and flung their own ammunition to the ground in token of surrender. He looked from one to the other and said:
"Let us not stop; Deerfoot is beginning to like it."
"That's the trouble," replied George; "you like it too much; I don't want any more; maybe Victor does."
"I'll do my own talking," replied the latter; "didn't you see me throw down my snowball? What do you 'spose I did that for?"
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