Life and Death Battle With an Indian With Knives and Tomahawks. The Settler Prevailed in the Fight

    On another occasion, Roller had an encounter with a single Indian in the woods, which probably stands unparalleled in the history of personal encounters between a savage and a white man. Roller left home about seven o'clock in the morning, in search of deer. He had ranged along the edge of the mountain an hour or two, when he heard a rifle-shot but a short distance from him, and a minute had scarcely elapsed before a wounded doe came in the direction where he stood. To shoot it was but the work of an instant, because he supposed that one of his neighbors had wounded it; for the thought of the presence of Indians never entered his head. Yet it appears that it was an Indian who fired. The Indian mistook the crack of Boiler's rifle for that of a companion left at the base of the mountain. Under this impression, the Indian, anxious to secure the doe, and Roller, intent on bleeding her, both neglected one of the first precautions of the day,—viz.: to reload their rifles. Roller was leaning over the doe, when he heard the crust of the snow breaking in a thicket near him. He jumped to his feet, and was confronted by the Indian,—a tall, muscular fellow, who was quite as large as Roller. The savage, well aware of the fact that neither of the rifles were loaded, and probably satisfied in meeting "a foeman worthy of his steel," deliberately placed his gun against a tree by the side of Roller's, and, drawing his tomahawk, he cast a glance of savage delight at the white man before him, which seemed to imply that he would soon show him who was the better man of the two. Roller, anticipating his intentions, drew his tomahawk and stood on the defensive. The savage made a spring, when Roller jumped aside, and the Indian passed. The latter suddenly wheeled, when Roller struck him upon the elbow of the uplifted hand, and the hatchet fell. Fearing to stoop to regain it, the savage drew his knife, and turned upon Roller. They clinched, and a fearful struggle ensued. Roller held the savage's right arm, so as to render useless his knife, while the Indian grasped firmly the hand in which Roller held his hatchet, and in this manner they struggled until they were both tripped by the carcass of the doe; still both retained their hold. Roller fortunately grasped his knife, lying beside the doe, with his left hand, and thrust it into the side of the Indian. The struggle now became terrible, and by one powerful effort the savage loosened himself and sprang to his feet; but Roller was as quick as he was. In attempting to close again, the savage stabbed Roller in the shoulder and in the arm. Roller had dropped his hatchet in regaining his feet, and the combat was now a deadly one with knives. They cut and thrust at each other until their buckskin hunting-shirts were literally cut into ribbons and the crusted snow was dyed with their blood. At length, faint with the loss of blood, the combat ceased, by mutual consent, as it were, and the Indian, loosening himself from Roller's grasp, took his rifle and disappeared. Roller stanched, with frozen snow and some tow, the only dangerous wound he had, and managed to reach his home. He was stabbed in four or five places, and it was some weeks before he fully recovered from his wounds. The skeleton of the savage, with his rifle by his side, was found the succeeding summer on the top of Warrior Ridge.

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