They did not know that a pair of hands had lifted the tent flap ever so little, and that a pair of keen eyes were following them.  The wonderful instinct of Henry Ware had warned him, and he had awakened the moment they looked in.  But his eyes had not opened.  He had merely felt their presence with the swish of cold air on his face, and now, after they had disappeared among the lodges, he wished to deepen the impression the belt bearers had made.  Then he and his comrades must go back to Paul and Jim Hart, who lay out there in the forest, patiently waiting.

The next morning Big Fox, Brown Bear, and The Bat saw three Miami belt bearers depart with peace belts for the Shawnee village, but as for themselves, they would remain a while longer, enjoying the Miami hospitality.

In an open space just north of the village, Miami boys were practicing with the bow and arrow, shooting at the bodies of some owls tied on the low boughs of trees.  Warriors were looking on, and the belt bearers, Big Fox, Brown Bear, and The Bat, joined them.  By and by some of the warriors began to take a share in the sport and practice, using great war bows and sending the arrows whistling to the mark.  At last the chief, Yellow Panther, himself handled a bow and surpassed all who had preceded him in skill.  Then, turning with a malicious eye to Big Fox, he said: 

“Perhaps the Shawnee belt bearers would like to show how well they can use the bow.  Surely they are not less in skill than the Miamis?”

His look was full of venom.  Shawnees, though armed now with rifles, were good bowmen, and whatever he suspected might be confirmed by the failure of the belt bearers to show skill, or not to shoot at all.  He held in his hand the great bow that he had used, and, barring the malice of his eyes, his gesture was full of politeness.

Big Fox did not hesitate a moment.  He stepped forward, took the bow and arrow from the hand of Yellow Panther, glanced at the great owl at which the chief had shot, and then walked back fifteen yards farther from it.  A murmur of applause came from the crowd.  He would shoot at a much greater distance than Yellow Panther had shot, and the chief and Braxton Wyatt, too, who had drawn near, frowned.

Big Fox glanced once more at the body of the great owl, and then, fitting the arrow to the string, he bent the bow.  An involuntary cry of admiration came from a people who valued physical strength and skill when they saw the ease and grace with which he bent the tough wood.  Not in vain had nature given Big Fox a figure of power and muscles of steel!  Not in vain had nature given him an eye the like of which was not to be found on all the border!  Not in vain had he achieved surpassing skill with the bow in his life among the Northwestern Indians!

There was silence as the bow bent and the arrow was drawn back to the head.  Then that silence was broken only by the whizz of the feathered shaft as it shot through the air.  But a universal shout arose as the arrow struck fairly in the center of the owl, pierced it like a bullet, and flew far beyond.