The young Indian rolled away the hoop, and Dick threw his dart with such vigour that it went deep into the ground, but missed the hoop by a foot at least.

The young Indian's first dart went through the centre.
"Ha!" exclaimed Joe Blunt to the Indians near him, "the lad's not used to that game; try him at a race.

Bring out your best brave--he whose bound is like the hunted deer." We need scarcely remind the reader that Joe spoke in the Indian language, and that the above is a correct rendering of the sense of what he said.
The name of Tarwicadia, or the little chief, immediately passed from lip to lip, and in a few minutes an Indian, a little below the medium size, bounded into the arena with an indiarubber-like elasticity that caused a shade of anxiety to pass over Joe's face.
"Ah, boy!" he whispered, "I'm afeard you'll find him a tough customer." "That's just what I want," replied Dick.

"He's supple enough, but he wants muscle in the thigh.

We'll make it a long heat." "Right, lad, ye're right." Joe now proceeded to arrange the conditions of the race with the chiefs around him.