"Deerfoot loves Whirlwind, and his heart would have been sad all his life if he had not found him. None shall take him away from Deerfoot again. Deerfoot knows that we shall meet in that land that our Father is saving for those who do His will, and then Deerfoot and Whirlwind shall hunt and roam the forests and prairies forever."

If the meaning of the words was vague to the stallion, he could not mistake the meaning of the embrace and the reposing of the side of the Shawanoe's face in the luxuriant mane. He was fully repaid for the indignities he had suffered and the grief that had come to him because of the separation of the two. Had Whirlwind been able to put his ideas in words it is conceivable that he would have reproached the Shawanoe for deserting and leaving him among strangers. Had he not done so, no search with its attendant dangers would have been forced upon the youth.

And had this rebuke been given to Deerfoot, surely he would have admitted the justice of the charge, for we know how he reproached himself for his conduct. But we blame others for ills which we know are caused by ourselves, and we chide unjustly those whom we love most, knowing all the time how unjust we are, and that if we loved less the reproof would not be given at all.



CHAPTER VII.

A MISHAP.

So Deerfoot the Shawanoe rode into the night, his heart aglow with gratitude because of the success of his venture. Whirlwind was his and he felt no misgiving over losing him again, and the steed himself would fight against recapture.

The animal kept to a walk, for to go faster would have been imprudent if not dangerous. He was not traveling over the course followed by Deerfoot in threading his way to the Assiniboine camp. The road was rough and strange to both horse and rider. All that the youth knew of a certainty was that he was journeying southward. He could tell that much by observing the stars that had served him so often as a compass.

Nor was there any necessity for haste. It was impossible for the Assiniboines to trail him until the sun appeared in the sky, when Whirlwind would easily leave the fleetest of their ponies out of sight. So no fear remained in the heart of the dusky youth. Speaking now and then to the animal, patting his neck and shoulder, or playfully pinching the glossy skin, he rode onward for several hours. He was not in need of sleep, and Whirlwind had been given nearly a whole day of rest. It was no task therefore for either to maintain the journey.

Deerfoot's intention was to ride until midnight, when the two would rest, resuming their journey at sunrise and pushing hard until they reached the villages of the Blackfeet. It was late when the stallion splashed through a small brook at the foot of a ridge, where Deerfoot decided to dismount for the remainder of the night. Slipping from the back of the horse he pressed his ear to the earth, but heard nothing to cause him disquiet. If the Assiniboines were hunting for him they were too far off to cause concern.

While Deerfoot was thus employed, Whirlwind stood as motionless as a statue, waiting for his commands. The Shawanoe was in the act of rising to his feet when the steed emitted the slightest possible sniff. He was looking toward the top of the ridge immediately in front, standing like a pointer dog, with his ears pricked forward and head high in air.

Glancing in the same direction, Deerfoot saw the figure of a buck that had come up the other side of the ridge and halted on the crest, as if he scented something amiss. He could not see the two below him, but his own form was thrown into relief against the starlit sky. The beautiful creature with the branching horns, the delicate ears, the shapely head and body, looked as if stamped in ink in the dim star-gleam.

Deerfoot touched the shoulder of Whirlwind as a warning for him to keep still. The intelligent animal maintained his statue-like pose, and the youth began stealing toward the buck, his cocked rifle grasped with both hands and ready to bring to a level and fire on the instant. The space between the two was fifty or sixty yards, which would have been nothing by daylight. The youth wished to decrease it as much as he could because of the darkness, so as to run no risk of missing his aim.

It may not sound poetical, but it is only simple fact that with the sight of the buck unconscious of his danger the dominant emotion of the Shawanoe was a sense of ravening hunger. It was a long time since he had partaken of food and his appetite was worthy of Victor Shelton. He meant that that buck should fill the aching void that vexed him.

A phantom gliding over the ground would have given out no more noise than was made by the moccasins of the Shawanoe; but the timid animal snuffed danger and wheeled to dash away. At the instant of doing so, Deerfoot fired, sending the ball into the body just back of a fore leg. The cervus species rarely or never fall, even when stricken through the heart, knowing which, Deerfoot dashed up the slope, knife in hand, and made after the wounded buck, which could be heard threshing among the stones and underbrush. He was still floundering and running when overtaken by the youth, who quickly ended his suffering.

The next act of Deerfoot was to reload his rifle, after which he cut a goodly piece from the side of the game and carried it back to where Whirlwind was waiting. The venison was washed and dressed, after which the youth groped about for fuel with which to start a fire. This proved quite a task, but he succeeded after a time, and then made one of the most substantial meals he had eaten in a long while. When it was completed hardly a fragment was left, and he felt he was provided for in the way of nourishment for a day or two to come, though he saw no reason to fear any such deprivation of food.

The Shawanoe could never forget his caution. While there was little probability of any of the Assiniboines being in the neighborhood, yet it was possible there were, and it might be they had observed the twinkle of the fire he had kindled and then allowed to die out. He remounted his horse and headed more to the westward, for he had a long way to travel to reach the Blackfoot country on the other side of the Rocky Mountains.

The youth was riding forward, glancing to the right and left, on the lookout for a suitable place for camping, when he noticed that while the ground over which he was passing was more level than usual, a high ridge loomed up on the left, rising in some places to a height of several hundred feet. After a time a similar formation appeared on the right. This showed that he was passing through a valley-like depression, but he had gone a comparatively short distance when he observed that the two mountain ranges, if such they might be considered, gradually converged. He turned to the left and at the base of the ridge dismounted.

"Here we will stay for the rest of the night," he said to Whirlwind. "Deerfoot feels that hard work is before us and it is wise to save our strength."

Since there was no saddle or bridle to be taken from the stallion, his master turned him loose, first kissing his nose and affectionately patting his neck. The horse wandered off a few steps to spend the hours by himself, while the youth laid his blanket on the ground and wrapped himself in it. No water was near, nor was there enough grass growing for Whirlwind to crop, but neither cared for a little thing like that.

Deerfoot slept soundly till roused by the licking of his cheek by his faithful friend, who was standing at his head and looking down in his face as revealed in the dim morning light. The night was gone and it had brought no alarm to either. Casting aside the blanket, Deerfoot sprang to his feet and surveyed his surroundings.

That which first attracted his attention was the convergence of the massive walls to the southeast. Less than half a mile away they came within a hundred feet of each other, thus forming one of the canons that are common in mountainous countries. The question which Deerfoot asked himself was whether it was probable the two joined. If so, he was entering a pocket from which he would be forced to withdraw. The middle of the valley showed that at certain times, perhaps when the snows melted, a stream coursed its way through the canyon, but the water came from the front and flowed toward the horseman into the open country to the rear. Had it taken the opposite course there would have been no hesitation on his part, for he would have known that an outlet was in advance through which Whirlwind could pass. On the other hand, it might be that the ridges united and the torrent had its source in the water which poured over the rocks at the head. If this proved to be the fact, Deerfoot would be obliged to retreat and make a change of course.

His belief was that the ridges did not join and it was therefore prudent for him to go on. Two causes led him to this conclusion: the ground was favorable for the hoofs of his horse, and the course of the canyon was the direction he wished to follow. It was a small matter anyway, for an hour or two loss of time could make no special difference. He spoke to Whirlwind, who stepped off with his usual proud stride. Now that daylight had come and the ground was inviting, the steed of his own accord broke into an easy gallop, which his rider did not check.

Arriving at the farthest point visible at the moment of starting, Deerfoot found that though the walls drew somewhat closer they did not meet for at least a half mile in front, where again a change of course hid the actual truth. He was now following the black, sandy bed of a stream, packed so hard that it gave an ideal floor for a horse's hoofs.

The Shawanoe had not reached the turn in the canyon when he made an alarming discovery. Looking to the rear he discovered fully a dozen horsemen coming toward him on a walk. They were probably a half mile off, and no doubt were pursuing him. He would not have felt any misgiving but for the instant suspicion that these Indians were Assiniboines and the other division of the party from whom he had retaken Whirlwind. They must have recognized the black stallion, and, if so, of course knew he had been captured by the Nez Perce, as they supposed him to be. On no other supposition could their action be explained.

Without checking his steed, Deerfoot turned and pointed his glass at the red men. One glance was sufficient. They were Assiniboines, and no doubt those for whom the other group were waiting in the grove miles distant.

Where they had come from with such suddenness was more than the Shawanoe could guess. It mattered naught since they were there, and his situation was not only unpleasant, but likely to prove dangerous. If the canyon closed he was fairly caught and would have to make a desperate fight to extricate himself. If it was open in front he had little to fear.

He spoke to Whirlwind, who instantly increased his speed. The Assiniboines seemed to make no effort to lessen the distance between themselves and the fugitive. This looked bad, for it indicated that the Shawanoe was riding toward a shut door and would fall into their power like ripe fruit shaken from a limb.

When Deerfoot reached the next curve in the canyon he perceived that only a little way in front it curved again. He decided at once to settle the doubt in his mind, for, if the canyon was a blind one, every rod of advance added to his danger. The walls drew steadily nearer and he began to fear that they really met not far off. If obliged to turn back he should do so without further delay.

Checking Whirlwind he slipped to the ground and ran to the side of the ravine. He left his blanket on the back of the horse, and leaned his rifle against the base of the rocks, up which he began climbing with the nimbleness of a sailor ascending the rigging of a ship. His intention was to reach the level ground above, from which he could gain a view that would tell him whether it was safe to go any farther into the canyon or whether he must make instant retreat.

From the foot of the mountain wall to the top was fully forty feet, and it was perpendicular all the way; but the face was so rugged that he went up without trouble, only turning a little to the right now and then to gain a better support for his hands and feet. The stallion stood motionless and watching him with what must have been wondering interest.

As he ascended Deerfoot glanced down the ravine and saw the Assiniboines still coming with their horses on a walk. This pointed to the probability that the Shawanoe had really entered a pocket and his enemies saw no need of haste, since they felt sure of their victim. And yet with all his acumen the Shawanoe erred in explaining the deliberation of his pursuers.

At last the agile climber reached the upper edge of the ravine, and it only remained for him to lift himself a foot farther to gain the view which would reveal the truth of the situation. He extended his hand upward to secure the grip that was to raise his head above the level. As he did so he rested it on something cold and soft, which he instantly recognized as a coiled rattlesnake.

Deerfoot shared the shivering disgust which nearly every person feels for crawling reptiles. Nothing was so hideous to him as the crotalus, and when he caught sight of one he rarely allowed it to escape. An electric shock thrilled through him as he snatched back his hand in time to avoid the sting, for the snake must have been as much astonished as he by its disturbance. In the horror of the contact the Shawanoe forgot everything else for the instant, and letting go his hold, dropped to the bottom of the gorge.

He realized his mishap the instant it took place and tried desperately to seize some obstruction that would check his descent, but could not do so. He struck the bottom of the canyon, landing on both feet, with a twinge of pain that was like a dagger thrust in his ankle.

But brief as was Deerfoot's descent, he had seen something terrifying while it was going on. The rattlesnake so rudely disturbed as it lay in coil (though it sometimes strikes when not in that position), darted its gaping mouth at the hand which flashed out of its reach. Strange as it may seem, it was lying on the very edge of the gorge, so close indeed that the blow which struck vacancy carried it over, and it came tumbling, looping and writhing after Deerfoot, at whose feet it fell, bruised and stunned by the impact. Before it could strike again he had seized his rifle and crushed out its life.

The excitement of the moment sustained him, but with the blow he sank to the ground as if shot through the heart. His left ankle had been severely wrenched and could not support an ounce of his weight. The pain was so intense that but for his iron will he would have swooned. With wonderful pluck and self-control he carefully raised himself and stood on the right foot, with the other leg bent at the knee and its foot held clear of the ground. A red-hot needle driven into and through the ankle could not have caused more agony.

But though his face and compressed lips were pale, not a murmur of complaint escaped him. Looking up at his steed he said, with his old, winning smile:

"Will Whirlwind take care of Deerfoot, for he cannot take care of himself?"



CHAPTER VIII.

ENEMIES AND FRIENDS.

The black stallion knew his master was in trouble. Stepping forward he thrust forward his nose and licked his face. Deerfoot rested one arm on his mane, the other hand holding his rifle. Then Whirlwind, without a word, kneeled on one knee, so as to lower his shoulders. With a single hop the young Shawanoe leaped upon his back and the steed immediately stood on all-fours.

"Now, my friend, show them what you can do in the way of running."

The incident had taken only a few moments, but brief as was the time it had allowed the Assiniboines to decrease the space between them and the Shawanoe. Singular as it seemed, they still failed to hurry. They held their horses at a walk, and Deerfoot for the first time began to suspect the truth.

Whirlwind was off with the speed of the wind. His motion gave pain to the rider, but it was less than when he stood with one foot on the ground. So long as he had the steed under him he felt little cause for fear.

The theory which had suddenly assumed shape in the mind of Deerfoot was that the pursuers wished to hold him in the ravine while another party passed around to the other entrance. He would thus be placed between two fires and his position made tenfold more perilous than ever. It may be said that if this trick succeeded the doom of both Deerfoot and Whirlwind would be sealed.

And it was precisely the stratagem which the Assiniboines had attempted.

It will now be understood why the Shawanoe sent his steed flying up the gorge at such a tremendous burst of speed that he rapidly drew away from the group behind him. He meant to get out of the ravine before he was shut off in front. No doubt longer remained that it was open at no great distance in advance.

The space was less than a third of a mile after making the last turn. Deerfoot would have been glad had it been greater, for that much more opportunity would be given for the use of the stallion's fleetness.

The Shawanoe descried the open door. The walls fell away, leaving an interval of a hundred yards between, the bottom of the ravine slightly ascended, the ridges gradually dropped to the level of the earth, and the country was spread out as before he rode into the canyon the night previous.

From the back of the flying steed Deerfoot kept his eye on the space, expecting every moment to see the other Assiniboines dash into view and sweep down upon him. He had fixed his line of action. He would charge straight at them, even if they numbered a dozen, using first his rifle and then his knife, should a chance present itself to bring the latter into play.

With every bound of Whirlwind the hopes of his rider rose. It looked as if the race had been won by the superb stallion. A few more strides and all his enemies would be thrown to the rear.

The next moment Whirlwind burst out of the ravine into the open country, and in the same instant came face to face with another horseman. He was the Assiniboine chieftain, who alone had ridden hard along the side of the canyon on the ground above, in order to head off the flying fugitive, and had arrived just in time to do so. He scorned to take any companion with him, for he feared no living man and was sure of overcoming the audacious stranger that had roused his fury.

The Assiniboine must have heard the thunder of the approaching hoofs, for he had checked his own horse, on which he sat awaiting the appearance of the Shawanoe. When the latter caught sight of his face he had his rifle at his shoulder and was in the act of pressing the trigger.

Deerfoot saw he had no time to use his own weapon, for quickly as he might aim it the other would be discharged first. In the language of the modern West, the Assiniboine "had the drop" on the Shawanoe.

There was but one thing to do, and Deerfoot did it in the twinkling of an eye. He flung his body to the other side of his steed, sustaining himself by bending his toes over the base of the stallion's neck. When I add that the foot with which he performed this remarkable bit of horsemanship was the one with the sprained ankle, you may faintly imagine the wrenching torture he suffered. Only by a superhuman effort did he keep control of his senses.

The Assiniboine fired at the moment of the lightning-like shift of position, and Deerfoot heard the zip of the bullet as it sped across the space covered less than a second before by his body.

There is a lurking devil in the most saintly disposition, and that which slumbered in the breast of the young Shawanoe now flamed to a white heat. Swinging back to the upright posture he called:

"Now, Whirlwind, run him down!"



The stallion felt the pressure of the knees, understood the command, and ablaze with rage, charged like a cyclone for the other horse. In a flash he crashed into the animal, hurling him sidelong to the earth and rolling him completely over from the terrific force of the impact.

But his rider was a fine horseman and leaped to the ground before the collision. Whirling about he faced the Shawanoe, with knife drawn, for there was no time to reload his gun.

He was now at the mercy of Deerfoot, whose weapon was loaded. But for the disabled limb he would have leaped to the earth and assailed the other. He would have done the same had there been two enemies before him; he would have done the same had there been three; but he was not the fool to engage in a fight when he had but a single leg to stand upon.

The panic-stricken horse, having clambered to his feet, dashed away. Whirlwind assumed his statue-like pose and Deerfoot brought his rifle to a level, with the Assiniboine staring into the muzzle.

The fight had been of the cyclone order, but, brief as it was, Deerfoot had become himself again. He was the Christian who could not shed the blood of one that was unable to defend himself, even though that one was his deadly enemy.

The Assiniboine had dropped his gun when assuming his position at bay, and it lay several feet away on the ground. Lowering his own weapon, Deerfoot pointed after the fleeing horse and said sternly in the tongue of the Blackfeet:

"Run! run after the horse!"

The gesture, as much as the words, explained the command. It was so unparalleled, so utterly unexpected, that the Assiniboine stood in a daze. Deerfoot knew that the report of the gun would speedily bring the warriors to the spot, and there was not a minute to spare. He repeated his order more sharply than before and accompanied it with a threatening lifting of his gun to a level.

The other could not misunderstand the significance of voice and gesture. He stepped forward to pick up his rifle.

"Stop!" shouted the Shawanoe, before the other could stoop. "Leave it where it is! Follow the horse."

The hammer of the leveled rifle was at full cock. Still unable fully to comprehend all that had taken place, the chieftain faced about and broke into a lope after his horse, which acted as if it would keep up its pace for the remainder of the day.

Deerfoot waited till the chief had gone a hundred paces, when heading the other way he gave the word to Whirlwind, whom, however, he held down to a walk. The rider wished to witness developments.

Looking back he saw the Assiniboine motionless and gazing after him with emotions that can hardly be imagined or described. He stood thus for a minute, when he started on a run to recover his rifle from where it lay on the ground. Just before reaching the spot the party of horsemen emerged from the mouth of the canyon and paused while their leader rejoined them.

It would be interesting to know how he squared matters with his warriors. It would have required a vivid imagination and a genius in the way of invention to explain how it was his horse was just vanishing in the distance; how the chief was in the act of recovering his weapon, and more than all, how it came about that the youthful warrior of a strange tribe, who had already slain one Assiniboine—though that was yet unknown to this party—was riding leisurely off on the back of the special pet of the chieftain. If the Assiniboine was wise he made a clean breast of it, and insisted that the dusky stranger was a marvel in his way whom it was exceedingly unwise to push into a corner.

The chagrin of the Assiniboine party was not soothed by the action of Deerfoot, who, having spared the life of an enemy, felt himself justified in "rubbing it in," so to speak. He faced Whirlwind toward the group, held him motionless, and, swinging his rifle over his head, indulged in a series of tantalizing shouts that were anything but soothing to the chief and his friends. How they ached to get the terrible young warrior into their power! What exquisite vengeance they would have wreaked upon him!

But such bliss was impossible. They knew what speed the black stallion possessed, and it was not supposable that his rider meant to challenge all of them to combat. So they maintained a glum silence as he rode from view.

Meanwhile, Deerfoot found he must give attention to the ankle, whose condition had been aggravated by the fight with the Assiniboine leader. It was much swollen and the pain was torturing. Still his bravery and self-command prevented anything in the nature of murmuring. In truth, he would have suffered death without outcry.

The remarkable youth found a strange consolation. He was familiar with the story of the Saviour's death on the cross and remembered the nails that were driven through the hands and feet.

"He suffered from four wounds, besides having a spear thrust into his side. Deerfoot has only one hurt in his foot and that does not bleed. He had the weight of the world's guilt crushing his heart. What are Deerfoot's sufferings compared with His? It is my Father's will and therefore the heart of Deerfoot is glad."

Failing to see a sign of strangers in the neighborhood, the Shawanoe drew Whirlwind down to a walk and halted at the first mountain stream, which happened to be no larger than the one where he had broiled his supper the night before.

The moment Whirlwind saw that his master wished to dismount he sank upon both knees. His sympathetic act touched Deerfoot, who, stepping carefully upon the well limb, patted the neck of the steed and thanked him.

"Deerfoot would be helpless but for Whirlwind. They must now stick together as never before."

Hopping to the brook the youth slipped off his moccasin and removed the stocking. The swollen ankle was as sensitive as a boil. Dipping the stocking in the icy water he rang it almost dry and rubbed the limb, gently at first and then more vigorously until it was in a glow. This was soothing and gave partial relief, but much pain remained. An injury of that nature takes a long time to subside.

Having never suffered from illness or wounds, the Shawanoe was without any remedy at command, nor did he know aught of the many medicaments which his race, as well as the white people, use. Had the hurt been a simple cut or wound he would have given it no heed, but his sprain forced itself upon his notice.

He finished rubbing the ankle and carefully drew on the stocking, with Whirlwind sympathetically watching him, and doubtless longing for some method of giving relief. I wonder whether the creature recalled that day, many weeks before, when his young master rubbed his injured knee so tenderly and ministered to him until he had fully recovered. We cannot fathom the mysteries of the brain in animals of a high order of intelligence, and it is not for us to deny that such might have been the fact.

Suddenly the stallion turned toward a pile of rocks to the left and emitted his faint, warning neigh. Deerfoot was up in a twinkling, despite the additional suffering caused by his action, and seized his rifle resting near. As he did so an Indian appeared from behind the rocks and came toward him. A glance showed him to be the dwarf with whom Deerfoot had had his singular meeting when journeying northward.

The red man of short stature took long wabbling strides, made numerous gestures and grimaces and rapidly uttered words, not one of which was understood by the Shawanoe. Still chattering, gesticulating and grinning he came forward, without heeding the black steed, flung his long bow to the ground, and kneeling down, gently lifted the foot of Deerfoot, who had not yet drawn on his moccasin. The visitor saw that the limb was injured and tenderly rested the foot upon his knee, the owner thereof making no objection, gently turned down the stocking and spent a minute or two in inspecting the swollen ankle. Then with a sympathetic aspiration he slowly stroked it with his hand. In doing so he drew downward each time and never rubbed the surface upward.

There is something in magnetism, and Deerfoot was sure of a slight cessation of the pain, though the relief was not marked. When the caressing had been repeated a number of times, the dwarf softly laid the foot on the ground and rose to his feet. Another vigorous discharge of unintelligible words followed, and he wabbled rapidly off beyond the rocks from behind which he had come a short time before.

Since he left his bow lying on the ground where he had flung it, Deerfoot knew he had gone in quest of some remedy and would soon return. He therefore kept his seat on the ground and patiently awaited the other's coming.

In a few minutes the dwarf reappeared, bearing in his hand a bunch of green leaves. The twigs were pinnated, and at the base of each leaflet, where it joined the common peticle, was a single crimson berry, resembling the common wintergreen, but the genus was unknown to the Shawanoe, though he knew something of medicinal herbs.

Dividing the twigs with their leaves and berries into halves, the good Samaritan laid one pile on the ground, pointing to it, and still chattering. Deerfoot knew he wished to direct his attention to the healing plant, and he nodded his head to signify he understood and would remember his request.

Then, as deftly as a girl, the dusky friend picked the berries from the twigs in the other bunch. They filled the palm of one hand, which he held out for Deerfoot to inspect. The Shawanoe nodded again. The other wabbled back to the rocks, but did not pass out of sight. Picking up a bit of stone, he began crushing the berries upon a projection of the rocks. It took but a brief time to turn them into a yellow, sticky mass which emitted a slightly aromatic odor. Returning to the patient, he skillfully spread the poultice on several of the larger leaves, laid them over and around the swollen ankle, and then, as gently as a mother with her babe, drew the stocking over it, so as to hold the poultice in place.

Deerfoot leaned back, resting his body on his elbows, and heaved a long, grateful sigh. The relief was bliss itself. For a minute or two he believed the injury was fully healed, but a slight movement of the foot proved that this was not the fact. Nevertheless, the effect of the crushed berries was magical. As he looked up in the homely, twisted countenance, his expression spoke his gratitude. The dwarf grinned. The language of thankfulness needs no interpreter. Deerfoot came to the upright posture, and, reaching forward, took one of the stranger's hands in his own and patted it, murmuring his thanks.

The dwarf pointed to the twigs and berries remaining untouched and said something, which was made clear by the rapid flitting of his forefinger from them to the wounded member. The meaning was plain. The patient was to use them as the others had been used. Deerfoot signified in his usual way that he understood the direction.

The dwarf stood for a few minutes silent, with his eyes on the face of the Shawanoe seated before him. Then he spoke again, and Deerfoot would have given much to have understood the words, but he could not form the remotest idea of their meaning. The visitor stopped and picked up his bow from the ground, turned and swung with his awkward gait up the slight slope, passed from sight behind the pile of rocks, and the Shawanoe never saw or heard of him again.



CHAPTER IX.

IN THE ROCKIES.

There was wonderful virtue in the remedy used by the dwarf Indian. You and I know that in many a mountaineer's cabin and barbarian's wigwam are found curatives which surpass anything known to what we call medical science. The proofs of this fact are too numerous to be questioned.

As Deerfoot rode away with Whirlwind on a walk, he knew his hurt had been greatly benefited. With his foot hanging, the flow of blood downward tended to increase the pain, but there was not only less of it than at any time since his mishap, but it was perceptibly decreasing. The swelling was going down, for the stocking was becoming looser. He timidly tapped the ribs of the stallion with his heel and was delighted to find it caused less of a twinge than he expected.

At the first water he paused, but would not allow Whirlwind to kneel to help him dismount. He let himself down rather gingerly and did not suffer therefrom. At the side of the little stream he examined his injury. The swelling was markedly less and he was able to press it without wincing. He had brought away the surplus berries, but, instead of using them, moistened the old binding and replaced it. It might be that he would not be able to find more of the remedy, and it was prudent to husband the supply. Observant as he was, he did not recall ever having seen the shrub growing, and was certain it was not found in Ohio or Kentucky.

One potent factor in the rapid recovery of the Shawanoe must not be overlooked; that was his own superb health and condition. You need not be reminded that when anything goes amiss with us physically, nature sets to work at once to right it, and the most that medical skill can do is to sit by and watch for contingencies and give assistance as opportunity offers, which is less frequent than many think. A system that has not been weakened by dissipation or the violation of the laws of health will do wonders in the way of repairing disease or injury.

It was not yet noon when Deerfoot became so hopeful and curious that he suddenly slipped from the back of his horse without checking his walk. Whirlwind must have been startled, for he instantly stopped and turned his head to learn what it meant.

"Don't worry," said his master with his familiar chuckle. "Deerfoot is almost well and will soon be himself again."

He ventured to bear a part of his weight on the weak leg. It caused a twinge, and he instantly shifted to the other foot, but with the transference of weight the pain departed, which was one of the best of signs.

The days of miracles passed long ago, and with all the virtues that may linger in the Thomsonian system of medicine, no possibility existed of the Shawanoe regaining the full use of his limb for several days to come. None the less, his recovery was astonishingly rapid, for, as I have said, his perfect vigor and healthfulness of body greatly aided in such recovery. Added to this was the intelligence he used. While he frequently tested and experimented with the injury, he did not venture too far. Now and then he carefully shifted a part of his weight to his left limb, then he hobbled a few steps, but stopped immediately at the first warning twinge. It may be said he encouraged the ankle to do its best to get well.

It was a little past meridian when he reached a place which showed a considerable growth of grass, and letting himself down to the ground, he told Whirlwind to attend to his own dinner. As for himself, he preferred to wait until nightfall, or the next day. At present all his attention was given to his hurt.

He decided, after inspecting the bandage, to replace it with a new one. He therefore flung the old one aside and mashed the berries and applied them as the dwarf had done. But the injured limb had so decreased in size that the stocking failed to hold it in place. The motion of the horse caused the bandage to slip over the foot. This was remedied by taking some of the threads of fringe from the skirt of his hunting shirt and tying them round the poultice. He expected the increased pressure to hurt, but to his pleased surprise the opposite effect resulted.

It had been in his mind to construct a crude crutch to aid in hobbling around, but he decided not to do so. If his recovery continued without relapse he could do well enough without such aid.

On the journey from the Ohio to the Pacific, as well as during their intimacy in the new State, Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la had talked so much about the home of the latter that the Shawanoe felt himself well informed. A hundred years ago that tribe numbered several thousand, and they lived in villages, some of which were long distances from one another. The country over which they roamed covered thousands of square miles of mountain, prairie and stream. Mul-tal-la described his own village as consisting of more than a hundred lodges, located near the middle of the Blackfoot territory. The tepees were strung along the eastern bank of a stream of considerable size, and was the dwelling-place of Taggarak, the most famous of the Blackfoot war chiefs and the head of the other sachems, most of whom lived in different villages. Deerfoot had formed so clear a picture in his own mind that he believed he could identify the Indian town at first sight, though it might be its resemblance to others would prevent such recognition.

The Blackfoot country lies to the east of the Rocky Mountains, while he was on the west of the stupendous range. It was necessary, therefore, to make his way through and over the backbone of the continent, in order to rejoin his friends. Inasmuch as the land of the Assiniboines was not only farther east, but many leagues to the northward, it will be understood that the party that had tried to run off Whirlwind had ventured on a most extensive raid, which brought them no reward except that of having slain several of Chief Amokeat's Nez Perces.

A requirement for getting through the mountains was an avenue, since the passage could be effected in no other way except by flying, and Deerfoot was not yet ready to try that means.

Using all the woodcraft of which he was master, he spent the remainder of the day in searching for such a pass. He scanned every part of his field of vision, but the day was drawing to a close before anything like success came to him. He had learned that the warriors to the east and west of the Rockies made journeys now and then back and forth. Sometimes these were raiding expeditions, at other times were merely rambles or visits, when the red men proved themselves capable of hospitality and friendship.

These people must be acquainted with the readiest means of travel, and wherever they walked or rode they left inevitable signs to guide others. The sun was still two hours above the horizon when Deerfoot came upon a plainly marked trail, leading almost due east and west. Without hesitation he turned into it. Instead of being a comparatively narrow passage, however, like that traversed by Mul-tal-la and George and Victor Shelton when they thought they were embroiled with the Shoshones, it was two or three miles wide, and even wider in some places. The ground was so depressed that it partook of the nature of a valley, through the middle of which a considerable stream of water had flowed, fed no doubt, as was the rule, by the melting snows and ice of the mountains.

The surface of this pass varied greatly. There were portions where boulders, rocks and ravines seemed to bar all progress, but these obstructions, upon a closer approach, revealed passages which could be easily traversed by horse or animal. Then came long stretches of fairly level land, where grass, trees and shrubbery were abundant. The mountains towered on the right and left, and now and then directly in front, some of the peaks piercing the sky far above the snow line.

Deerfoot would not have dared to attempt this passage but for the proofs that it had been traversed before by others. In fact, shortly after he made the change of direction he came upon a spot where a large party had encamped not long previous. It was too early in the day to halt for the night, and he allowed the stallion to pass on.

An hour later, when casting about for a suitable camping site, he descried an Indian party not far in advance, but a fourth of a mile to the left. While they were using the same pass with himself, they were traversing another portion and pursuing the same direction as he.

Not convinced that it was well to seek their company, the Shawanoe brought his glass to bear and surveyed the motley group that were straggling eastward. The sight was interesting even to him, for the Indians were composed of warriors, squaws, children and pappooses, evidently migrating to a new home. They had eight or ten scraggly ponies, each walking between two poles that served as shafts and extended so far to the rear that they dragged on the ground. Thus they served as runners or crude sleds. Held in place by thongs and crosspieces, the primitive wagon gave a resting place for tired squaws and children, their lazy husbands, or the furs and luggage of the party. The primitive contrivances left a peculiar trail.

The Indians numbered perhaps fifty or three score, and had nothing attractive in their slouching, untidy appearance, which suggested so many dusky tramps on their way to quarters that offered a better opportunity for begging. Deerfoot had no wish to gain a closer acquaintance and kept well to the south, so as to be sure of passing without mingling with the company. As the ground was favorable he put Whirlwind at a moderate gallop.

The dusky strangers showed their keenness of vision by observing the stranger almost as soon as he descried them. He saw several of the warriors who were on foot point toward him. They seemed to expect Deerfoot to come forward, but, when he did not do so, showed no further interest in him.

The wish to keep clear of the uninviting throng caused the youth to ride on until the gathering gloom told him night was at hand. He then saw he had come to another place that had served as a camp for those who had traveled the way before him. There were the little stream of icy water, the rank grass, the scattered undergrowth and the boulders and rocks of every size and variety.

The air was so chilly that Deerfoot began gathering wood for a fire, though he had nothing in the nature of food for an evening meal. I have shown, however, that that was a matter of small account to him. There was more than enough for Whirlwind, who, leaving his master to himself, began edging up the pass, cropping the choicest grass on the way. The Shawanoe had to grope in many places before he collected enough fuel. He heaped a part against the cold bare face of the rock, several paces from the winding brook, whose waters were not only clear, but of the temperature of ice itself.

With his usual deftness, Deerfoot soon had the fire blazing. He had not seen living man or animal since his sight of the migrating Indians, and he did not think it likely he would meet any before morning. The past day and night had been so stirring that the present rest was grateful. He assumed an easy posture, half reclining on his blanket, and, supporting the upper part of his body on one elbow, he drew out his Bible and held it so that the firelight fell on the printed page.

He read for a full hour. Many of the passages were familiar to him, and he could repeat them—as he often did when riding or walking alone—without glancing within the volume. He read some of the chapters a second and third time, dwelling on certain verses, as if to make sure he lost nothing of their wonderful significance and beauty. Finally, he closed the book and placed it back in its usual resting place.

The fire was sinking and he flung more wood on the blaze. Then moving beyond the circle of light, he gathered his blanket about his shoulders, and, finding his ankle free from pain, leaned back against the face of the rock and gave himself over to meditation upon the fascinating and yet awesome mysteries of the Word and of the Author of them all.

Everything favored the sweet, solemn reverie. He was utterly alone, so far as any of his kind was concerned. He could hear the soft impact of Whirlwind's hoof now and then as he shifted his position and continued nibbling the grass. The night wind sighed around the massive rock, fanning the blaze, and sometimes rising to a moan as it careered upward and swirled about the stupendous peaks towering near at hand. Far aloft he caught the faint honk of the wild geese hurrying southward from the Arctic winter that would soon lock the world in its rigid fetters. The dismal howl of a mountain wolf sounded far off in the solitude and seemed to linger tremblingly in the air. The silence was all the more impressive because of these disturbances which belonged to the time and place.

Leaning back against the rugged rock, in which a slight warmth was perceptible from the contact farther away with the blaze, Deerfoot's thoughts drifted to other places, scenes and persons. He recalled his rambles with Ned Preston, Jo Springer, Jim Turner and the quaint negro youth known as "Blossom," when all passed through many stirring experiences, as you learned long since in the "Boy Pioneer Series;" and of Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub in the "Log Cabin" stories. Fred Linden and Terry Clark were to come later.

Deerfoot had known many men who later gained a place in history. You will recall the high esteem in which he was held by General W. H. Harrison, Governor of Indiana Territory, and afterward President of the United States. It was he who declared, when a Senator in Washington, that he looked upon the young Shawanoe as the greatest Indian in many respects that ever lived, with natural abilities superior to those of the renowned Tecumseh, who, nevertheless, holds the most exalted position in the estimate of those that came after him.

Daniel Boone, the renowned pioneer, regarded the youth highly, while Simon Kenton, himself one of the best judges of men, was as unstinted in his praise as Governor Harrison. The acceptance of Christianity by this remarkable youth shut out forever the political fame and power that he would have assuredly won had he refused the true faith and been an Indian in his traits, tastes and ambitions. But the sweet, soul-satisfying happiness that was always his he would not have exchanged for the highest honors the world can give.



The musings of Deerfoot took a daintier, softer, tenderer tint. His thoughts flew across the thousands of miles of forest, river, mountain and prairie to one whose image was never absent from his heart, and whom he hoped to see again and all in good time call wife. He talked to none of her, for the theme was too sacred to be shared with another, but next to his religion it was the sweetest, dearest consolation of his life.

"In the rainbow-tinted forest, Where the sleepy waters flow,— Roamed I with a dark-haired maiden, In an autumn long ago; And her dimpled hand was resting Timidly within mine own, And her voice to mine replying, In a whispered undertone."



CHAPTER X.

IN THE BLACKFOOT COUNTRY.

One keen, sunny afternoon in autumn, a certain Indian youth executed a war dance among the foothills to the east of the Rocky Mountains. The only spectator of the fantastic performance was a superb black stallion, who, so far as can be judged, found a good deal of entertainment in the sight. It was long before the days of kodaks and their snapshots, which add so much to our enjoyment of everyday incidents.

Although Deerfoot did not waste any time, it took him a fortnight to thread his way through that immense range which ribs the western part of our continent. After using the last of the crimson berries that benefited his sprain so much, he spent several hours in hunting for the herb; but search high and low as much as he might, he not only failed to find it, but was never able to discover the fruit in any part of the West.

On the morning following his first encampment in the mountain pass he found himself strong enough, by using care, to walk upon the hurt ankle. He was too wise to push matters too fast, which fact, added to his perfect physical condition and the effect of the herb, carried him swiftly along the road to recovery. At the end of a week not a trace of lameness remained. He was cured.

His prudence restrained him until he emerged from the mountain proper into the foothills, when, knowing he was as strong as ever, he indulged in the exuberant outburst. Leaving his blanket upon the back of Whirlwind, but holding his rifle in one hand, Deerfoot leaped into the air, spun around first on one foot and then the other, sent his shapely legs flying seemingly in a dozen different directions at the same moment, swung his arms, bent his body, cavorted and made contortions that would have honored a professional acrobat. Not only that, but he punctuated the extravagant display by a series of whoops such as had nerved the Shawanoe warriors many a time to rush into battle.

All this time Whirlwind stood calmly watching the performance. It is reasonable to believe he was interested, and had he possessed the power of laughter he would have thrown back his head and "cracked his sides" at the sight. What a pity that George and Victor Shelton could not have peeped out from some concealment. They would have remembered the picture all their lives.

Only by this grotesque exercise could the young Shawanoe find vent for his overflowing spirits. There is nothing in all the world that can take the place of physical vigor and health—a truth which unnumbered thousands do not realize until too late. Temperance, right living, obedience to the laws of hygiene, and a clear conscience, never fail to bring their reward and to give to this life a foretaste of the blessed one to come.

Deerfoot had chosen an open space, walled in by rocks, boulders and stunted undergrowth for his physical outburst. When the performance had gone on for some time, he danced up to the side of Whirlwind and planted one of his feet against his ribs so sharply that the stallion was forced back for a step. Instantly he wheeled, partly reared and struck at his insulter, but he was so afraid of hitting him that the blow was awkward and missed the Shawanoe by a goodly distance. As he dropped on his feet, Deerfoot darted under his belly and repeated the blow from the other side. The white teeth of the steed snapped within a few inches of the shoulder of the youth, who slapped the nose before it could be withdrawn.

Whirlwind wheeled to face his master, who landed lightly on his back and pounded his sides with his heels. The contest recalled that other struggle between the two, months before on the prairie, when it was a battle royal indeed. But the great difference lay in the fact that the present one was good-natured on both sides, and it is easy to believe that the stallion wished the youth to prove himself once again his master. An intelligent animal loves to obey him who has proved his superiority.

There is no telling all that was done by the Shawanoe. He sharply pinched the glossy hide. He griped the nostrils of the steed as if to shut off his breath, but was too considerate to continue this long, since the horse seems unable to breathe through his mouth. He placed his hand and forearm over the eyes of Whirlwind as if he meant to play blind-man's buff with him. He yanked the forelock and reproached him as being of no account.

The stallion did his part in the way of defense and retaliation, but he was continually handicapped by his dread of hurting his master. And yet it would seem that, recalling that other conflict, he ought to have had no such apprehension, for he had done his best on that occasion to kill the Indian youth, who was not harmed at all, and overcame the creature that possessed ten times his strength.

Whirlwind showed signs of fatigue before Deerfoot did. A comparatively clear path stretched in front. Dropping from the back of the horse, the Shawanoe challenged him to a race. Bounding off at his highest bent, the youth dashed across the country with the speed of the wind. He ran as he did when on the second half of his race with Ralph Genther.

Ah, Whirlwind had him now! No danger of hurting his audacious master, except so far as his feelings were concerned, and the stallion did not spare them. Despite the favorable ground, more than one boulder or bunch of matted undergrowth had to be leaped, and the two went over them like a couple of flying birds. But the steed steadily drew away from the fleet Shawanoe, who at the end of two or three hundred yards, finding himself hopelessly to the rear, gave up.

"Deerfoot is only a child when he races with Whirlwind; have mercy on him."

Hearing his call, the steed ceased his running, wheeled about and waited for his master to come up. Deerfoot patted him affectionately and vaulted upon his back, happy as he could be over the triumph of his matchless animal that was as well pleased as he.

The journey through the Rocky Mountains was accompanied by many interesting experiences which cannot be dwelt upon. It need hardly be said that so peerless a hunter as the young Shawanoe never lacked for food. That region is still a royal one for game, and it was such to a more marked degree a century ago. Antelope, deer, bison and the famous Rocky Mountain sheep were often seen, and when Deerfoot felt the need of the food it was simple sport to obtain it.

One day, while walking in front of Whirlwind, he came upon an enormous grizzly bear that seemed disposed to dispute their way. The stallion trembled with fear, but his master soothed him and prepared for a desperate fight. Deerfoot never killed an animal in wantonness, and, though he did not doubt that he could overcome this colossal terror, he preferred to make a detour of the broad pass and leave him undisputed monarch of the solitude.

But, if the youth showed mercy to animals, he was not so considerate of reptiles—especially when they crawled the earth. He detested a serpent with unspeakable disgust, and believed he was doing good work in reducing, as opportunity presented, the noxious pests. His experience with the rattlesnake which caused his wrenched ankle did not lessen this hatred of the species. When, therefore, a warning rattle told him one afternoon that he had disturbed another of the venomous things beside the path, his enmity flared up. No fear of the Shawanoe being caught unawares, as when climbing the wall of the canyon, for he had slain too many of the reptiles in his distant home not to understand their nature. Whirlwind, like all of his kind, had a mortal dread of every species of serpents, and he showed his timidity the moment the locust-like whirring sounded from the bush at the side of the path the two were following.

Deerfoot caught sight of the hideous reptile, which was evidently gliding over the earth when it detected his approach. It instantly threw itself into coil, and with its flat triangular head upraised and slowly oscillating back and forth, waited for the intruder to come within reach of its deadly fangs.

Deerfoot uttered an expression of astonishment, for it was the largest specimen upon which he had ever looked, and he had seen many of enormous size. He stood for a few minutes, surveying the horrible thing, a single bite from which would have been fatal to man or animal.

It would have been easy to clip off its head with a rifle shot from where he stood, but he scorned to waste powder and ball upon its species. Three stones, almost the size of his fist, did the work effectually. When no semblance of life remained, Deerfoot approached nigh enough to count the rattles. They were twenty-eight in number. The time was near for serpents and bears to take to winter quarters, and the fate of this extraordinary crotalus forcibly illustrated the truth that delays are often dangerous.

Several times on the road, Deerfoot met those of his own race. Sometimes they were warriors riding their ponies, and again they were on foot. The Indian seems to be migratory by nature, and many of these families were shifting their homes, apparently in obedience to the yearning for change which is not confined to uncivilized people alone. It is worthy of note that the Shawanoe not once had any trouble with these strangers. They were hospitable and made their meaning known by the universal sign language. Whirlwind could not fail to draw much admiration, and Deerfoot saw more than one envious eye cast on the stallion. It may have been due to the Shawanoe's caution and tact that no attempt was made to rob him of his treasure.

Winter was near, and, though only one or two flurries of snow were encountered, the temperature often sank below the freezing point. Soon after entering the foothills a driving storm of sleet set in which stopped progress on the part of the Shawanoe and his horse. The youth sought out the most sheltered nook he could find among the rocks and kept a fire going. While he felt no discomfort himself, his companion suffered considerably. He often slept on his feet, but now and then lay down. Deerfoot compelled him to share his blanket, and this, with the warmth of the blaze, did much to make the steed comfortable. It was difficult at times for him to obtain grazing, and Deerfoot gave him aid, as he did months before, when suffering from his lamed knee.

Several days later the youth left the side of the stallion and climbed to the top of a rocky elevation, which commanded an extensive view in every direction. His eye had roved over the expanse but a few minutes when it rested on an Indian village that lay a dozen miles to the northeast. Adjusting the spyglass he carefully studied the collection of tepees, which numbered about a hundred, scattered over several acres. At the rear stretched a forest, and in front flowed a large, winding stream that eventually found its outlet in some of the tributaries of the Missouri.

The question with the Shawanoe was whether or not this was the village he was seeking. Since he had never seen it before, and since it was the custom of all Indian tribes to locate near running water, he could not make certain on that point from the description given by Mul-tal-la.

The glass was an excellent one, and through its aid he could discern the figures of people moving aimlessly hither and thither. He saw two men enter a canoe, formed from a hollowed log, and paddle to the other side of the stream, where they stepped out and advanced into a rocky wood. He thought one of these warriors carried a gun and the other a bow, but could not assure himself on that point. At the rear of the village, in a large open space, fully a score of boys and girls were playing with as much vigor as if they were civilized. They seemed to have a ball that was knocked to and fro and chased by the happy contestants, who often tumbled over one another and again were piled up like so many foot-ball players.

Knowing he might gaze and speculate for hours without gaining any certain knowledge, Deerfoot was about to lower his instrument when he observed three horsemen emerging from the settlement and riding in Indian file toward him. He decided to go forward and meet them, for they could give the information he was so anxious to obtain.

Within the following hour the Shawanoe, riding Whirlwind, came face to face with the horsemen, whom he recognized from their dress and general appearance as Blackfeet. He saluted and addressed them in their own tongue, causing manifest surprise. They replied to his signs and expressions of good-will and checked their animals to hear what he had to say. Let us interpret the conversation with more than usual freedom.

"Do my brothers belong to the Blackfoot tribe of red men?" asked Deerfoot.

"We are of that tribe," replied the one who acted as leader.

"I come from the Shawanoes, who live a long way toward the rising sun."

"Why does the Shawanoe travel so far from the lodges of his people?"

"I am seeking friends who are with the Blackfeet. They left many moons ago, but parted company with me in the land of the Nez Perces. I am trying to join them. They are two pale-faced lads who have as their guide a good Blackfoot, Mul-tal-la, that has made the long journey to the home of the Shawanoes."

Upon hearing these words the latter turned his head and spoke for several minutes to his companions, but his words were so low that Deerfoot could not overhear them.

"Is Mul-tal-la in the home of my brothers?"

"No," was the response. "He does not live there."

"Where does he live?"

Instead of directly answering this question the Blackfoot leader said:

"He lives in another village. What is the name of his chief?"

"He told me it was Taggarak."

"He is the great war chief of the Blackfeet. There is no sachem or chief like him. His arm is powerful and has slain many Assiniboines and Nez Perces and Shoshones."

"The words of my brothers were told to me long ago by Mul-tal-la. I am sure they are true. Where shall I seek Taggarak?"

The Blackfoot pointed to the northwest.

"Ride that way till night comes and the sun is again overhead, and he will look upon the village of Taggarak and the home of Mul-tal-la."

This was acceptable information, but a vague fear caused Deerfoot to inquire further.

"Have my brothers seen Mul-tal-la since he came home from his long journey?"

"No; we have heard that he has come back, but he did not bring his comrade with him."

"Have my brothers met the pale-faced youths who went to the village of Taggarak?"

"No; we have not seen them, nor have we heard of them."

This was discomforting news, for it would seem that if tidings had come of the return of Mul-tal-la, something also would have been said of his companions, who belonged to another race. Deerfoot asked only a few more questions, when he bade the Blackfeet good-bye and set out to hunt the village of the war chief Taggarak, where, if all had gone well, he would meet Mul-tal-la and the brothers, George and Victor Shelton.



CHAPTER XI.

IN WINTER QUARTERS.

The time has come for us to turn our attention to George and Victor Shelton, who, after parting with Deerfoot, set out for the principal Blackfoot village under the guidance of their old friend Mul-tal-la, a member of that powerful organization of the Northwest.

You will recall that when the little party of explorers were approaching the home of the tribe they met two warriors, who were old friends of Mul-tal-la and lived in the same primitive settlement with him. After Mul-tal-la had made known the sad fate of his companion in the East, an earnest talk took place and the decision was made that it would not only be imprudent but dangerous to the last degree for the Blackfoot to return home, taking with him the first announcement of the deplorable accident that had robbed the tribe of one of its best warriors.

Taggarak, the leading war chief, was a terrible sachem, who, on the principle that has ruled for centuries in China, would put Mul-tal-la to death, even though he was wholly blameless of neglect or wrongdoing. It was agreed that our friends should push on to the westward, and then come back to the Blackfoot settlement, where the Shawanoe and the brothers would spend the winter, resuming their homeward journey with the coming of spring.

This would defer the arrival of Mul-tal-la for two or three months, which his two friends would utilize the best they could. Taggarak would have time for the cooling of his resentful rage, and it was to be hoped that he would appreciate the service of Mul-tal-la, who, young as he was, had proved himself one of the bravest of warriors. The plan was a wise one and it worked well.

The two messengers had a story of absorbing interest to tell. They hinted at the remarkable experience of their comrade among his own race and the white people, hundreds of miles toward the rising sun. They said that when he came to the village he would bring with him a member of the chief tribe of the East and two pale-faced youths, who would honor the Blackfeet by accepting their hospitality for the winter. There was something in this fact that appealed to that chivalric feeling which is never wholly lacking in the most degraded and cruel race. Taggarak had little to say, but the path to his magnanimity had been paved.

One of the chief causes of this relaxation of sternness on his part was the accounts which he heard of the Indian youth. His fleetness of foot, his skill with bow and rifle, his personal daring and prowess, his quickness and strength, his comeliness of face and form, were dwelt upon and pictured in the most glowing language. The chieftain Taggarak's question of the messengers was characteristic, as was their reply.

"Are all the warriors of the Shawanoes like this youth of whom you tell these strange stories?"

"The Shawanoes are no braver than the Blackfeet, but there is none among them like Deerfoot, nor can his equal be found in all the world."

Among those who doubted the truth of the words of the messengers were several aspiring bucks, who secretly resolved never to admit the superiority of the Shawanoe youth in any of the respects named until such superiority had been proved before their eyes.

The curiosity and spirit of hospitality were general among the Blackfeet. Expecting the visitors to spend several months with them, they made preparations for their convenience and comfort. One of the first things undertaken by the two who had met the little party was the building of a tepee or home for them. Mul-tal-la had his own father and mother and would go to their lodge, but it would not have been seemly to place the three guests with anyone else.

It has already been said that the Blackfoot village, which was the main one of the tribe and the dwelling-place of the leading chief, was stretched along the bank of a running stream which was a remote tributary of the Missouri. This river had a rapid current and ran almost due south in front of the village, which lay wholly on the eastern bank. The tepees were more than a hundred in number, and, when Taggarak went on the war path, he had taken more than two hundred warriors from his own town—and they were the flower of the tribe.

To the rear of the settlement was an open space covering several acres. This was not only the children's playground, but was often used by the warriors for their games and athletic exercises. The space was so extensive that at certain seasons of the year the outer portions were covered with rich nourishing grass, which was also abundant in the neighborhood. Nearly every warrior was the owner of a horse, which, when not in use, was allowed to wander and graze at will.

These Indians lived after the manner of their race when removed from civilization, which, as a rule, has proved a greater curse than boon to them. Fortunately they knew nothing of the ruinous "fire water" that was to await the coming of professing Christians and the claimants of a higher culture and civilization. They spent their time mainly in hunting and fishing, sometimes engaging in raids upon other tribes, several of whose grounds lay to the north of the boundary line. When not thus employed they lolled about, like true lords of creation, smoking, drowsing or indifferently watching their squaws, who did all the tilling of the ground and gathering of the scant crops from the rich soil. The Blackfeet lived too far to the eastward to take any part in the salmon fishing which gave employment to so many of their race on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains. The warriors were finely formed, and were held in no little respect and fear by the neighboring red men, most of whom at some time or other had felt the weight of their prowess.

The home for the expected visitors was erected at the extreme northern end of the village, and was separated by fully fifty yards from the next neighbor to the south. About a dozen saplings were planted in the ground so as to form a circle, perhaps fifteen feet in diameter and a little less in height. The tops were tied together, but loosely enough to leave an opening a foot or more across to serve as a chimney. Over the framework thus formed were stretched with no little skill a number of bison furs, with the furry side in. They were stitched together by means of deer sinews and pegged at the bottom, so as to shut out all draught. Thus all the interior walls were brown and shaggy and warm. On the outside of numerous tepees, cured and whitened by the storms, many of the aboriginal artists of the tribe had sketched grotesque figures of men, horses and wild animals.

You will note that the temporary home of our friends was of the most primitive character, and yet all had seen such before and Deerfoot had spent many a day and night in similar ones in the East. At one side a loose bison robe could be lifted, thus serving as a door. When the weather was warm this fold was often fastened back to permit a partial ventilation of the lodge.

In the middle of the space the fire was kindled, the smoke finding escape through the opening in the saplings at the crown of the structure. Despite the care with which the robes were joined together, enough air stole through the crevices to give the necessary draught for the chimney and furnish the occupants comparatively pure sustenance for their lungs.

The bare ground was the only floor to these rude structures, but the blankets and furs served as so many rugs, and the dwellings, with the crackling fire in the center, could be made comfortable even in the depth of the rigorous winters.

At that early day, more firearms than would be supposed were found among the Indian tribes of the Northwest, though naturally the old-fashioned bow and arrow were the main weapon. The flintlocks were gotten by barter with tribes on the other side of the Rockies, who in turn managed to buy them from the few ships that were beginning to trade with the savages about the lower waters of the Columbia. These guns were comparatively few in number, and it is hardly probable that there were a score among the whole tribe. Few as were the firearms, several good marksmen had been developed among the Blackfeet, and they were naturally proud of their skill. When a party engaged in one of their raids, all the muskets were taken with them. But ammunition was used sparingly, for it necessitated long and expensive journeys through the mountains to renew the supply. You remember that Mul-tal-la left home with only his bow and arrow.

The messengers, when spending their brief time with our friends while they were pushing toward the Pacific, heard of that new religion which was professed not only by Deerfoot the Shawanoe, but by his companions. It was so different from the pagan belief that the couple, upon their return to the village, took care to make no mention of it; better to leave that until the arrival of Deerfoot. At the same time the two Blackfeet trembled when they thought of what was almost certain to take place. Taggarak was a fierce heathen who would savagely resent any interference with the crude belief that had belonged to his people from time immemorial. A collision between him and Deerfoot, and perhaps with his companions, was among the certainties of the near future.

Thus everything had been prepared for Mul-tal-la and the Shelton brothers when one afternoon the three rode into the village, with Zigzag the packhorse plodding at the rear of the procession. The arrival made a hubbub of excitement, and it seemed as if the whole settlement—men, squaws and children—gathered clamorously round the horsemen, who dismounted and gazed about them with scarcely less wonder.

The parents of Mul-tal-la remained in their own lodge. They must have been more eager than any to welcome the son that had been gone so long out of their world, but it would have been weakness on their part to hasten to greet him. Besides, he must needs look after the white youths, who had now become more dependent than ever upon him.

The two former acquaintances were among the first to crowd forward to welcome the boys and their old companion. There was no mistake as to the genuineness of their pleasure. They told of the quarters awaiting the lads, who, remounting with Mul-tal-la, rode to the new residence erected at the northern extremity of the Blackfoot town, with their guides walking beside their animals.

Mul-tal-la was as stoical as any of his race, though he was yearning to look upon that father and mother who would greet him, and he them, as if they had been parted for only a few hours. Slipping to the ground again, the three took a peep at the interior of the tepee which has already been described to you. The boys expressed their delight and thanked their friends over and over again. Then Mul-tal-la bade them good-bye, promising to call in a short time, after which he lounged away toward his own lodge. On the road he continually encountered his old friends and exchanged greetings and talked with them as if glad of an excuse for delaying his reunion with his parents.

One of the first bits of news imparted to the Blackfoot was that Taggarak was absent on a visit to the farthest village to the north, but was expected soon to return. Mul-tal-la was relieved to hear this, for, despite the assurances of his friends, he dreaded the anger of the terrible chieftain.

When within a hundred yards of his home, which remained closed as if deserted, Mul-tal-la turned into the tepee where dwelt the parents of the companion who had been buried hundreds of miles away. The father sat on a pile of furs at one side of the lodge, stolidly smoking his pipe. His squaw was kneeling in front of the burning wood and trying to blow it into a blaze. They looked up as the visitor drew aside the flap which served as a door. The old warrior removed the long stem from his lips and grunted as he recognized the visitor. The squaw raised her head, saw who the caller was, and resumed blowing the fire, as if she had no interest in what he might say.

Mul-tal-la told briefly the particulars of what the couple already knew, speaking words of praise for the lost one, and saying how sad his heart had been since the dreadful accident that befell his companion.

The father replaced the stem in his mouth and slowly puffed. Once he grunted, but did not speak a word. The mother continued to fill her leathern cheeks with air and to blow upon the fagots that were burning so strongly as not to need any urging. She did not speak nor look up until several minutes after the departure of Mul-tal-la.



CHAPTER XII.

BLACKFOOT CITIZENS.

"Well," said Victor Shelton, "our tramping is through for several months to come, and we may as well settle ourselves for the winter."

"There doesn't seem much to do in the way of settling," returned his brother; "here we are, and here we must stay till spring comes round. I wish it were with us now, for since we have started for the Ohio I have become homesick."

"We'll soon get used to this life and shall feel better when Deerfoot joins us."

They had removed the saddles and bridles from their horses and the pack from the sturdy, faithful Zigzag, and brought them into their new home, after which the animals, including Bug, the property of Mul-tal-la, had been turned loose to browse with the others at the rear of the village. Blankets were spread on the ground at one side of the tepee, to serve as seats and couches, and the other conveniences, which made up most of the burden carried thousands of miles by Zigzag, were distributed with some taste about the interior. Their native friends had shown their thoughtfulness by heaping a pile of dry sticks under the chimney, with more placed within reach. The starting of the fire was left to the lads. Nothing in the way of food was in sight, but the brothers had no fear of being forgotten or overlooked. It was several hours before nightfall, and they reclined on the furs to rest themselves before going outside. A dozen or more curious men and boys were lounging near, for the murmur of their voices reached the brothers, but no one ventured to intrude upon their privacy.

"George, when we get back to Ohio we shall be able to tell a story that will beat anything Simon Kenton can relate."

"How? There are not many that have passed through as much as he."

"But he has never been west of the Mississippi, and it isn't likely he ever will go. We must have gone two thousand miles beyond. When we see him again won't we make him open his eyes with our story of a winter among a tribe of Indians far over toward the Stony Mountains?"

"It will be a great story, indeed; but Victor, how are we going to pass the more than a hundred days that we must stay in this settlement?"

"Time goes fast enough when we are on the move, either shooting rapids in a river, riding our horses or tramping on foot, but it is mighty dull to sit still and do nothing, and we mustn't think of any such thing."

"But what shall we do?"

"What shall we do? Lots of things. We can hunt and fish, play games with the youngsters, learn to tramp on snowshoes when winter is fairly here, and, if Taggarak goes off on any raids, we ought to be able to make a full man apiece."

George looked into the face of his brother to see if he was in earnest.

"Do you mean that, Victor?"

"I certainly do. Why not?"

"It is well enough to fight when you have to, but Deerfoot will never let you do anything of that kind, nor would I agree to it. It would be trying to kill other people just for the fun of doing so, and that is contrary to what the Shawanoe has taught us."

"I suppose we shall have to get on as best we can with the other amusements, but I tremble when I think of the weather that will be here in a few weeks."

George looked around at the brown shaggy walls of buffalo fur. He grasped some of the long soft hairs in his palm and stroked the cool mass.

"We need never run short of fuel, and when the fire is going and the door shut I don't see why we shall not be as warm as in our own home at Woodvale. But what shall we do? That's the question. It will be tiresome beyond bearing to lie here stretched hour after hour during the day."

"Plague take it!" impatiently exclaimed Victor; "who is going to do anything of the kind? I should like to see Deerfoot let you sleep and lounge your days away. He will share the lodge with us, and you may be sure he'll keep things moving. There isn't any weather cold enough nor snow deep enough to hold him within doors, and he'll hustle you out with him. So let's hear no more of that. Then you mustn't forget, George, that we shall make lots of acquaintances among these people. We have learned to speak a good many words of Blackfoot, and shall learn more; we shall take a liking to some of these folks, and, if we have any kind of tact, shall make them like us. Most of them have never before looked upon a white person, but they will soon get over their wonder, and we shall all stand on the same level."

"Well, Victor, you have done a good deal to cheer me up. I guess it was the homesickness, after all, that made me blue. See here, these two fellows that put up this house for us have been such good friends that we must be able to call them by name."

"Mul-tal-la has repeated them several times to us."

"Now, will you repeat either of the names to me?"

"I couldn't do it to save my life. They are so long and outlandish that I can never get my, tongue around them."

"Let's give them shorter names."

"Well, suppose you name the taller one, who has such a crooked nose."

George reflected a moment and replied;

"I'll call him 'Spink;' that is short and easily remembered. I don't think he will be offended, for he seems to be good-natured."

"We can fancy that it may mean in some language, 'He that looks Sweeter than Honey,' and he will be delighted when we manage to make it clear with the help of Mul-tal-la. I have the other fellow named."

"What is it?"

"Jiggers, or, The Warrior that showed Chief Taggarak all He Knows. That ought to make him proud and happy."

So the two Blackfeet who had befriended the brothers received their names, and will be hereafter thus known when we refer to them, instead of using the difficult titles by which they were called by those of their own race.

From his seat opposite the door that was closed Victor had noticed a peculiar agitation now and then of the buffalo flap. Once, when the corner was drawn a little aside, he caught the sparkle of a bright eye, which was instantly withdrawn, as if the owner had noticed that his peeping was observed and he was scared. By and by the eye appeared again, and remained longer than before.

Victor smiled and crooked his finger at the peeping Tom. A moment later the flap was pulled aside, so as to display the head of an urchin some ten or twelve years old. Victor had whispered an explanation to his brother, and both looked at the boy, who had mustered up enough courage to step inside the tepee and then paused, as if afraid to come forward.

This young Blackfoot had the broadest, chubbiest face the boys had ever seen, and the grin on it seemed to touch each ear. He was short, stocky, and the picture of good nature. He wore no cap, and his thick black hair was cut so that it hung no lower than his chin on each side. He wore a hunting shirt, leggings and moccasins that were not very tidy, and he carried nothing in the nature of a weapon about him.

Victor and George could not restrain a laugh at the chap's appearance. The former continued to beckon to him, and said:

"Come here, Smiler, and shake hands with your friend."

He still hesitated, and, rising to his feet, Victor walked toward him, speaking so soothingly that the visitor kept his place, though apparently ready to duck his head and dash outdoors. He knew nothing about the ceremony of shaking hands, but he allowed Victor to take his palm in his own, and to lead him back to a seat on the furs between the brothers. A few minutes sufficed to make him feel at ease.

George and Victor called all their knowledge of Blackfoot into use, but they could not think of a word that was intelligible to the youngster, nor could they induce him to speak. He held his forefinger between his lips, shook his head now and then, and glanced slyly from one boy to the other, evidently well pleased but still embarrassed and a little distrustful.

Victor suddenly crossed over to where most of the contents of the pack carried by Zigzag had been laid out. Among these were several gaudy trinkets brought all the way from Woodvale and carefully reserved for special use. From the lot he took a string of bright crimson, blue and green beads, strung upon a linen thread, the loop being long enough to slip over the black crown and leave the lower part resting in all its dazzling beauty on the breast of the lad.

You cannot imagine the wonder and delight of the dusky urchin. For a few seconds he seemed too overcome to speak, and hardly breathed. He looked down at the glittering string, then drew his forefinger from between his lips and gingerly caressed the prize. Growing bolder, he raised the loop to his mouth as if to taste it. Pressing one of the beads with his even white teeth, the tiny glass snapped into fragments, some of which flew several feet away. The youngster was startled and glanced up at Victor, as if expecting a reproof.

The lad pleasantly shook his head to signify that the present did not form a staple article of food, and then the urchin slipped off the pile of furs and stood upon his sturdy legs. Looking gratefully up at the paleface he lifted the string over his head and handed the beads back to Victor. The latter took them from his hand and immediately slipped them about his neck again, thus showing that they belonged to the caller. Then the little one broke into grateful laughter, ran to the door, thrust aside the flap, and was gone.

"You couldn't have hit upon a better name than 'Smiler,'" said George Shelton, much amused by the peculiar visit they had received.

"Did you ever see one with so broad a grin? My only fear is that the other chaps will be jealous of him and expect us to give them presents, too. We haven't enough to go a tenth of the way round; but I couldn't refuse that codger."

The caller had not been gone two minutes when Mul-tal-la came in, bringing with him some buffalo meat that he had procured from a neighbor. It was uncooked, which was a small matter to the brothers, who were glad to see him, for he was the one person in the village with whom they could converse freely. Carefully placing the meat on several sticks, so as to protect it from dirt, he sat down to chat a few minutes with his young friends.

He told them of his visit to his father and mother, whose hearts were made as glad as his own, after their long separation; of his call on the father and mother of the companion whose body lay at rest many hundreds of miles away in the East, and of the comforting assurance that was now his that nothing was to be feared from the resentment of Chief Taggarak. Spink and Jiggers had received within the preceding ten days the assurance from the sachem himself, so that all uneasiness was gone from the heart of Mul-tal-la. But, had not the counsel of the two messengers been followed, nothing would have restrained Taggarak from taking the life of the one that had failed to bring back his comrade.

Victor told of the visit just received from the urchin, and of the present made to him, much to the lad's delight.

"We christened him 'Smiler,'" said Victor, "for I never saw such a grin on the face of man or boy."

"We could not help giving him the beads, but fear it will make trouble, for all the other boys in the village will want something, and we haven't supply for half a dozen."

"It might have been as my brothers say," replied Mul-tal-la, "if the boy had been the son of one of the ordinary warriors like myself, but he is not."

"Has he a distinguished father?" asked the wondering George.

"He is the son of Taggarak, our great war chief."

"I never dreamed of that," exclaimed the pleased Victor. "It surely could not have happened better. How is it that he was braver than the other boys and came into the lodge when all the others kept at a distance?"

"That," said the Blackfoot significantly, "is because he is the son of Taggarak and knows it. He can do nothing that can bring him punishment, unless it comes from his father, and he does not punish him unless he acts as if he is afraid of something."

"How many children has Taggarak?"

"Only two—the one whom you saw, who bears the same name as his father, and another boy about half as old, who is Ap-pa-pa-alk. He promises to grow up like his father and to become one of the greatest warriors among all the Blackfeet."

"When the chief learns that Taggarak Junior and we have become friends, and he sees the beads around the neck of his boy, will he not be pleased and feel kindly toward us, who gave him the little present?"

Mul-tal-la was thoughtful for a minute before replying.

"The war chief is a man of strange moods. It may make no difference in his feelings toward my brothers, but Mul-tal-la does not think he will hate them for what they have done."



CHAPTER XIII.

SUMMONED TO COURT.

At the end of a week George and Victor Shelton had become full-fledged Blackfoot citizens. Several causes united to bring about this pleasant state of affairs. In the first place, the boys used tact and good sense. If the attention they drew to themselves became annoying at times they did not allow their new friends to see it. They played with the dusky youths, and were not sorry to find plenty no older than they who could outrun and outjump them. It was too cold to go in swimming, but one day when George and Victor were crossing the stream in front of the village with three other lads, one of whom was their young friend Smiler, heir apparent to the Blackfoot throne, the overloaded canoe suddenly sank below its gunwales, and all had to swim through the icy waters to shore. Every one of the three arrived first, and Smiler beat them all, though in this instance I cannot help suspecting that the two young Blackfeet favored the prince, but they beat the brothers fairly.

When the weather was good there were sometimes as many as fifty lads playing on the common or cleared space at the rear of the village. They indulged in a species of foot-ball, like the modern game, which was marked by the roughest kind of play. In violence it sometimes approached our own foot-ball, and blows were often given and received in the fierce rushing.

On a certain forenoon, in a particularly exciting contest, one of the players landed a blow on the side of Victor's head, which sent him sprawling to earth. His quick temper flashed into a flame, and he leaped up with doubled fists and made for the offender, who coolly awaited him. A warning cry from George recalled his brother to his senses, and, instead of attacking his assailant, he laughingly plunged into the melee, which went on as merrily as before.

When five Indian youths invited their guests to go on a hunt the boys took their rifles, but their hosts carried only bows and arrows. On the return of the tired party at nightfall they brought the choice portions of three antelopes, two of which were slain by the youthful Blackfeet, while the one that George Shelton had brought down received also an effective thrust from an arrow. The dusky hunters "guyed" the palefaces who could not do as well as they with their primitive weapons, even though the fire spouted from the iron tubes and the balls that could not be seen by the eye carried death farther than did the missiles launched by the natives. George and Victor took it all in good part, and did not resent the taunts that were numerous.

Another strong contributing cause to the popularity of the Shelton boys was Mul-tal-la, He was home but a short time when everyone in the village knew of the generous hospitality he had received from the boys and their friends. This appeal to the gratitude of the Blackfeet produced the best effect. Mul-tal-la and the messengers, Spink and Jiggers, had something to add, and their stories of the remarkable young Shawanoe roused much curiosity to see him and witness some of the exploits of which he was said to be capable.

Chief Taggarak did not return until nearly a week after the arrival of the brothers, and then he kept much to himself. He was reserved and gloomy, and though George and Victor caught several glimpses of him, and though they continued to make much of his two boys, for the younger moved about the settlement as freely as the elder, the great war chief ignored the presence of the visitors until he had been at home for several days.

One afternoon, after the return of a party from a hunt, Mul-tal-la appeared at the lodge of George and Victor with word that the chief wished them to come before him for a talk. The boys knew so little of the Blackfoot tongue that Mul-tal-la was to act as interpreter.

"What does he wish with us?" asked George, who, like Victor, felt some misgiving as to the object of this command.

"Mul-tal-la does not know, but his brothers need have no fear."

"What did he say to you?" asked Victor.

"Only that he wished to see and talk with you. Come with me."

It was about the middle of the afternoon when the lads, under the lead of their dusky friend, threaded their way among the tepees to one near the middle of the village, which might be considered the royal residence. This structure differed from the others in that it was double the capacity of an ordinary lodge, that one side consisted of a broad face of rock, that it was in the shape of a square, supported at two corners by upright poles, the rock serving as the remaining support. The fire was always kindled against the base of this mass of stone, an opening just above serving as an outlet for the smoke.