“The rest of the rules are simple. You fight in the circle and stay out of the fire. If one of you falls or is thrown out of the circle, he gets thrown right back in and the fight goes on. The match ends when one of you says uncle—go.” Mr. Grimes pushed Francis into the ring. The other boy had already entered from the other side.

Francis had wrestled a lot with the Pawnee boys, but he was hardly ready for this Sioux terror. With a loud scream the Indian boy, grinning widely, bounced across the clearing, spun lightly on his left leg, and placed the instep of his right foot dead in the center of Francis’s still-undigested buffalo, hard.

It was a kick solid enough to drop an ox. Francis went down with his hands doubled over his stomach and a look of complete surprise on his face.

The Sioux boy landed on him like a cougar—a smiling cougar—and Francis’s arm was twisted up his back and his face was mashed in the dirt.

A loud collective grunt issued from around the circle. It was going to be a quick fight, and the Sioux boy would have a fine new rifle. This white boy must have been terribly lucky in his dealings with the warrior Braid.

But Francis wasn’t quitting, in spite of being out of breath, and having a mouth full of dirt. The arm lock looked wicked but it didn’t hurt much. The Indian had failed to twist the arm enough to make it painful, and his mistake gave Francis much needed time to catch his breath. Then he used a trick he’d learned fighting with Max. He totally and completely relaxed, even the arm the Indian boy was holding. It worked. The Sioux wrestler felt the relaxing, and took the opportunity to change his hold.

It was what Francis had hoped for. With a mighty heave, he arched his back upward and threw the Sioux boy. Then he scrambled and landed, as hard as he could, on top of the boy, grabbed him around the neck and leg, and arched his back.

Another grunt came from the crowd. Maybe the fight would go on for a while yet. Francis heard Mr. Grimes on the side: “Well done, Mr. Tucket.”

In almost any other match it would have been the end, for the Indian was all but paralyzed. Francis was on the boy’s back, pulling him up at both ends, and he couldn’t move.

But because of the grease, Francis couldn’t maintain his hold. His hand slipped from the boy’s neck, the Indian rolled over, and before Francis really knew what had happened, he was in the dirt.

This time Francis saw something new in the Indian’s eyes. It was respect. Whereas he had jumped in screaming the first time, he now circled warily as the two regained their feet.