The other seemed to rouse to his peril, for he made the only wise response he could—which was putting forth every atom of strength and skill that he possessed in the effort to breast the furious torrent.

It is singular how often the slightest advantage turns the scale for life or death. At the moment the canoe was smashed and capsized Terry Clark was seated some six or eight feet nearer the shore toward which they were paddling than was Fred Linden, and this difference remained when the two went into the water and began swimming. The Irish lad was fully as skillful as the other, and he did not lose an inch of the gain thus given him.

They were near the middle of the stream when the catastrophe took place. Of course they would have done better had they been without any clothing, but there was no time to remove any of that, and beyond question the two made the most gallant kind of a fight for life.

Fully aroused to his peril, Terry swam with amazing power, his lips compressed and his eyes fixed on the land in front, which seemed quite near, and yet was never so hard to reach. The lad had proven by repeated tests that he could swim faster on his left side then in any other position. He quickly flung himself over and used his arms and legs like one who knew fully the stake for which he was contending.

By this recourse he actually gained on Fred, who continued to breast the water with all the strength at his command. Terry was hopeful, and now that he was fully roused, he did not waste his strength in shouting to his companion. As he advanced in his crab-like fashion, he frequently flirted his face around so as to look in front, and thus to keep aware of his progress.

"I'm doing well, and will make it," was his thought; "I hope Fred will be as fortynate as mesilf."

An important point was gained by swimming on his left side; his face was turned up stream, and he caught sight of the floating timber quicker than when advancing with his face toward the land. Thus it came about that he saw a plunging tree, or log, similar to that which had destroyed the canoe, and when it was fully as close to him.

Like a flash, Terry dove, intending to pass clean under it. He could not know any thing about the portion beneath the surface, and was a little startled when he found himself among leaves and a lot of small branches; but he swam with the same vigor and skill when below as when above the surface, and quickly fought his way through, rising on the other side a considerable distance nearer land.

But he gasped with terror, for during the brief period he lost a great deal more than he gained. A furtive glance to the left showed him the mist and spray flying high in air, as the muddy waters were tossed to and fro by the rocks below: he was fearfully close to them.

But he was also close to land, and he saw his chance; indeed, his only one. A tree growing out toward the creek curved downward so that the lower part of the trunk was within a few inches of the water. A short time before the current had washed against it, but was now falling away from it.

The portion which inclined downward like a bow was several feet from shore, and some distance below him. It will be seen, therefore, that the thing for him to do was to bend all his efforts toward reaching that. If he could advance far enough to allow the current to sweep him beneath, or quite close to the tree, he could grasp it and save himself.

"That's what's got to be done," was his conclusion the instant he saw the crooked tree; "or it's good-by to Terry Clark and his rifle."

He would succeed; he saw it the next moment. The curving tree seemed to be sweeping up stream with frightful swiftness, but at the right second Terry, by a supreme effort, threw himself partly out of the water, and flinging both arms around the trunk, which was no more than six inches in diameter, he held fast.

The strain was great, and he felt his fingers slipping over the shaggy bark, but he held on like grim death, and by a skillful upward hitch of his body, locked his fingers above the trunk, and was safe; he was then able to hold double his own weight.

His next move was to throw his feet around the trunk, when it was an easy matter for him to twist himself over on top, where he was as secure as lying on his own trundle bed in the cabin at home.

The instant his own safety was secured his whole soul was stirred by anxiety for Fred Linden, who, he knew, was placed at more disadvantage than he. Since he was further from shore than was he, and since the latter had been able to save himself only by a hair's breadth, it was clearly beyond the power of Fred to escape in the same manner—though it might be that there was some other remote chance for him.

The first glance that Terry cast over the muddy waters showed him his friend, swimming manfully for shore, but so far out in the stream that it was impossible for him to reach it before passing into the grip of the rapids.

"It's no use," called out Fred, in a voice in which there was no tremor or shrinking; "I'm bound for the rapids, and here goes."

And deliberately facing about, he swam coolly in the direction of the boiling waters as though he were bathing in a still lake.

"Be the powers, but he is plucky," muttered Terence, thrilled by the sight; "if he can get through there alive, I'll be proud of him!"

The rapids, of which I have made mention several times, were caused by a series of irregular rocks, extending a hundred yards, in the space of which the stream made a descent of a dozen or twenty feet. At ordinary times the creek wound languidly around these obstructions, forming many deep, clear pools of water, that afforded the best kind of fishing. There was so much room for the current that there was no call for it to make haste.

But you can understand how different it was when the creek was swollen by violent rains. It then dashed against the rocks, was thrown back, plunged against others, whirled about and charged upon still others, by which time it was a mass of seething foam, with the spray flying high in air, and a faint rainbow showing through the mist when the sun was shining. After fighting its way between and around and over these obstructions, the current emerged at the bottom one mass of boiling foam and dancing bubbles, which continued for several hundred feet before the effects of the savage churning that the water had received could be shaken off.

Now, it would be idle to say that these rapids were as dangerous as the famous whirlpool below Niagara Falls; for it would not only be untrue, but it would shut me out from taking Fred Linden safely through them: for I am bound to do that, since he is too good a fellow to sacrifice at this early stage of my story, and you would not forgive me for doing so.

But all the same the danger was great, and was enough to cause the bravest man to shrink from attempting the passage. Fred would have been glad to shrink from going through, but since that was beyond his power he did the wisest course—faced about and kept his wits with him.

There was one consolation—the suspense could last but a few moments; he was sure to emerge from the lower falls within the space of a minute, whether alive or dead.

The first object that caught his eye was his broken canoe. Naturally it was but a short distance below him, though it had gained a little while he was struggling so hard to make land. It was turned on its side, spinning sometimes one way and then whirling the other, according to the whim of the current; then sea-sawing up and down, until all at once it shot upward like a huge sturgeon, which sometimes flings its whole length out of the water.

Another point must be named that was gained by this facing about of Fred Linden. Since he was going with the current he kept pace with every thing else that was afloat, and he was therefore in no danger from the trees and branches that had caused him so much, and, in fact, nearly all his trouble.

At the moment he was about to enter the boiling rapids he found himself partly entangled in the branches of a large uprooted tree that was dancing about in a crazy fashion.

"This may help to shield me from being dashed against the rocks," was his thought, as he seized hold of a thick limb close to the point where it put out from the trunk; "at any rate I don't see that it can make matters any worse."

The act of Fred Linden in grasping the limb saved his life. The next moment he was whirled hither and thither, half strangled with foam, head now in air, now beneath the surface, his body grazing the jagged rocks by the closest possible shave, and all the time shooting forward with dizzying rapidity, until at last he emerged into the calmer water below as well and hearty as he ever was in all his life.



CHAPTER XI.

TRAMPING SOUTHWARD.

An ejaculation of thankfulness escaped Fred Linden when he found himself floating in the comparatively still water below the rapids, and he knew that although he was pretty well bruised, none of his bones was broken. He let go of the limb of the tree that had served him so well, and flirting the water from his eyes, struck out with his old time vigor for the shore, toward which he had started in the canoe.

When Terry Clark saw his friend go spinning into the whirlpool, he scrambled back from the trunk of the tree, on which he had found refuge, and ran at full speed down the bank. Fast as he went, he was just in time to see Fred swimming through the foaming waters toward the land.

"Give me yer hand!" called out the delighted youngster; "there isn't any body in the wide wurruld that could bate that onless it is mesilf, and I couldn't do it."

"Whew!" exclaimed Fred, as he laboriously clambered up the steep bank; "that was the biggest lot of swimming and diving crowded into the space of a minute or two that I ever knew; I wouldn't like to take such a trip each day."

"And I'm thinkin' that it'll be a few days after this whin we try it agin," added Terry, delighted to see his loved comrade before him unharmed; "I jist give up when I seen you plunge in among the rocks, and was wonderin' how your father and mother and sister Edith would faal when I should be luggin' your dead body home."

"I'm thankful that you haven't that to do," said Fred with an earnestness that could not be mistaken; "but come, the clothes of us both are dripping, and we can't get away any too soon."

It was not far to walk, and a few minutes later they reached the other side of the clearing, where the cluster of cabins stood. The first living object on which their eyes rested was Brindle, lying on the ground and chewing her cud with an air of contentment which belongs exclusively to her kind, or rather kine.

The boys laughed and Terry said:

"If she had such a thing as conscience she wouldn't be takin' things in that aisy style, after givin' us a duckin' that come nigh bein' our last one."

"You are right, Terry, but what did you do with that bell that Deerfoot took away from the Winnebago?"

"I lift it wid my gun on the other side of the creek; I didn't want it tollin' our funeral knell all the time we was goin' through the rapids and splittin' the rocks to pieces by bangin' our heads agin them."

"It is just as well, for the creek will be so low that there will be no danger in crossing it to-morrow, and you can get the bell again; well, here we are at home."

The boys separated, and at the same moment, each entered the cabin where he lived. They were only a short distance apart. Several men and a number of the lads, some older and some younger than the two in whom we are interested, were moving about, and looked curiously at the dripping figures. A couple asked an explanation of Fred, but he laughingly answered that he would tell them after he had got dry, and immediately disappeared in his own house.

Mrs. Linden and Edith, her daughter, who was two years younger than Fred, looked up in surprise when they saw the state of the lad.

"Terry and I started to paddle across the creek, that is higher than usual, and were overturned by a tree that stove in the side of the boat and gave us a ducking."

Having heard this explanation his folks seemed to feel no more curiosity about it. The lad passed into his room, he being one of those fortunate ones who had two complete suits of clothing, with the exception of cap and shoes. It took him but a short time to effect the change, when he reappeared, placing his foot and head gear near the fire, where they would soon dry.

The home of Fred Linden may be taken as a type of the best that were found on the frontier. As a matter of course, it was made of logs, with a stone chimney so huge that it projected like an irregular bay window from the rear. The fire-place took up the greater part of one side of the house, where the immense blocks of oak and hickory not only diffused a cheery warmth through the lower portion, but sent fully one-half the heat up the enormous throat of the chimney.

The large room, which served for parlor, sitting and dining room, was furnished simply, but comfortably, with plain chairs, a bench, spinning-wheel, a rocking-chair, table, a few cheap pictures and the indispensable cooking utensils. There was no stove, every thing being prepared in the fire-place. At that day, as you well know, no one had ever dreamed of using coal as an article of fuel, and the old-fashioned stoves were exceedingly few in number. Carpets, of course, were not thought of, though the rough floor was kept clean enough to serve as a table for food.

A rifle rested on two deer prongs over the mantel-piece, and there seemed to be any number of knick-knacks about the room, though it would have been found that nearly every one had a distinct use in the household.

Two rooms were connected on the same floor with the larger apartment. One of these served as the sleeping quarters for the parents when Mr. Linden was at home, and the other for Edith, while Fred occupied the loft, which had the rafters for a ceiling, and extended over half the lower floor. During the absence of the father, Edith and her mother used one room, while Fred had the other.

Noon had passed when the son came home, and his substantial dinner of venison—procured some days before by Fred himself—brown bread, potatoes, butter and milk, were awaiting him. Taking his place at the table, he ate as only a rugged, growing boy of sixteen can eat.

He made no further mention of the dangerous adventure that had just befallen him, but gave the full particulars of Terry Clark's encounter with the Winnebago Indian, who stole the bell from the cow, and tried to have a little sport at the expense of the boy. It was an interesting story, and mother and daughter listened with rapt attention. Edith, who was a bright girl, and very fond of her brother, asked many questions as to how the Winnebago looked, what he said, and whether he really meant to kill poor Terry. Then her interest suddenly transferred itself to Deerfoot, and she plied Fred with all sorts of queries, until he laughingly told her that she was asking them two and three times over, and really he had nothing more to tell.

Then Fred drew out the moist and soiled bit of paper that he had taken from his other clothes, and which contained the message of his father. This, of course, caused a sensation, for it made known the fact that the son was to join his parent for several months. It would be supposed that this would cause some inconvenience, but in such a primitive community all were neighbors, and the chores and work that would have been done by Fred Linden would be cheerfully attended to by others. It was not until many years afterward, when the settlements became towns, that the social distinctions between families were formed.

During all the conversation, after it had been agreed that Fred should start alone on a hundred mile journey through the wild forest, nothing was said about such a thing as the personal danger attending it. And that, too, directly on the heels of the Winnebago's attempt on Terry Clark. The habit of self-reliance was taught to the children of the pioneers at such an early age, that their parents felt no solicitude, where in these times they would have been tortured by anxiety, and, no doubt, with abundant reason.

Mrs. Bowlby was told of the mishap that had befallen her absent lord, when she was asked by Edith to come over in the evening, but she was assured that there was no cause for alarm, and so she felt none. She wrote a letter to her husband, as did the wife of Hardin, and Fred's own mother. These constituted all the extra luggage that he was to take, for it would have been oppressive to load him with any thing in the nature of a burden when the hunters had been absent only a few days.

The decision was that Fred should make his start at early dawn the next day. It was his purpose to reach camp on the fourth day; that would be only an ordinary tramp for a rugged youngster like him, and he was confident that he would have no trouble in keeping to the trail that had been ridden over so recently by his friends.

The little personal articles, as they may be called, which the lad would require, were mostly the same as those of his father, and could be utilized by the son. Such, as from the nature of things, could not answer for both were tied into a compact package with his linen and strapped over his shoulders with a thick blanket. His powder horn and bullet pouch were not forgotten. An extra flint for his rifle was placed in his pocket, and the weapon, which belonged to the lad himself, was slung over his shoulder after the manner of a professional hunter. Then making sure that nothing had been left behind, Fred gave his sister and mother a warm hug and kiss apiece, called to them a jaunty good-by, and set his face toward the Ozark mountains.

It had become known that he was to start on quite a lengthy journey, and those who were astir at that early hour called their hearty good wishes to the lad, who was popular with all. Fred looked for Terry, and seeing nothing of him, shouted his name as he passed by his door, but receiving no response, concluded that he was still asleep.

The heart of the boy was light as he strode at a rapid pace across the clearing. He felt no inconvenience from the bruises received the day before, during the passage of the rapids, and his natural buoyancy caused him to look upon the tramp through the woods as a school boy views his long expected vacation. There was no fear of any peril in the stretch of unbroken forest that opened before him. It was fortunate indeed for his peace of mind that he did not know what was awaiting him in the dark arches and labyrinths of the almost interminable wilderness.



CHAPTER XII.

A STRANGE ANIMAL.

When Fred Linden reached the creek where he had met with his stirring adventure the day before, he could not help smiling. It had shrunk to its usual volume, and was winding along as lazily as usual, the only sign of the violent freshet being the debris left along the bank and the slightly roiled appearance of the current.

The pioneers had so many occasions to cross this stream of water that they had made several attempts to put up a rude but strong bridge; but no matter what pains they took, they could never erect a structure strong enough to withstand the furious freshets which, as you can well understand, were often resistless.

The result, therefore, was a reliance upon the canoes, some of which lay on one side of the stream and some on the other; but a surprise awaited young Linden. Seeing no boat in sight, he walked along the shore in quest of one, for he was resolved to keep out of the water as long as he could, though a lad on the frontier makes far less ado about dripping garments than you or I.

That which surprised him was the sight of a long, uprooted tree which, coming down the creek, when the water was rapidly falling, had swung around in such position that the roots caught fast in the clayey soil on the bank, and the limbs were imbedded in the sand and mud on the other shore. The result was as good a bridge as a foot traveler could want.

"That will do until there comes another rise," he said, as he carefully stepped upon the limbs, using them to reach the trunk, along which he walked across the water, leaping to the ground on the other side.

He stepped off with his elastic gait, keeping so close to the path that he and Terry had taken the day before that he caught sight of the bushes around the splintered trunk of the tree where the rifle captured from the Winnebago had been hidden.

"He'll be over early to get his prize," thought Fred; "for it is beyond all worth to him. If it wouldn't make him feel so bad I would plague him a little by hiding it."

He parted the bushes and peered within. The first object on which his eye fell was the battered old cow-bell that had played such a curious part the day before, but he saw nothing of the gun itself; a brief but hurried search convinced him that it was gone.

"That will break Terry's heart," said he to himself; "he never owned a gun, and now, to lose such a handsome one when it has been in his possession only a brief while, will grieve him as much as the loss of a dear friend."

Just then young Linden caught the faint but clear notes of some one whistling. He had but to listen a second or two, when he recognized it, as he did the hearty laugh that followed. Looking to his right, he saw Terry himself standing but a few paces away, and, so to speak, in his "war paint." Bullet pouch, powder-horn, bundle on his back, and, more than all, the splendid rifle was there. The round, chubby face, clear eyes, and pug nose of the Irish lad seemed to radiate delight as he made an elaborate salute to his friend, and, with mock gravity, doffed his hat and scraped his foot along the ground. "Why, Terry," said the delighted Fred, asking the useless question, "what is the meaning of this?"

"I'm going wid ye to the camp in the Ozark Mountains; do ye think I could rist aisy, knowin' that ye had to travel such a long distance wid no one to take care of ye?"

"Well, now, that just pleases me more than I can tell you," said the overjoyed Fred, slapping him on the shoulder; "there isn't any one in the wide world whose company I want as bad as yours; I lay awake half of last night trying to get up some plan by which I could have you with me, but I couldn't think of any, and had to give it up. Father sent only for me, and I didn't suppose that Mr. MacClaskey would spare you. Tell me how you managed it."

A quizzical expression came upon the face of the Irish lad, who, leaning on his rifle, took off his hat and scratched his head for a few seconds before answering.

"Wal, bein' it's yersilf, Fred, I don't mind sayin' that it took some strategy, as I suppose Deerfut would call it. Last night, after we had eat our supper, and the chores were done wid, and Mr. MacClaskey had took his seat by the fire and lit his pipe, and Mrs. MacClaskey had started her spinning-wheel a-hummin', and the children had been packed off to bed, I told the folks the whole story. I managed it in such a style that the owld gentleman, who, you know, has spint two winters in the mountains, said it would make the folks out there desprit short of hands. I observed, in me careless way, that such was the case, and that Mr. Linden had sent word to ye that he wanted ye to come, and, from things that I knew, me own prisence would give great satisfaction to sartin parties. Ye understand that I had yersilf in me eye, though I didn't think there was nade of making it all plain how it was.

"Wai, the owld gintleman wouldn't listen to me goin' away, but I managed it so well that after awhile he kind of remarked that if the folks wanted me, he'd no objection to me goin', as he belaved that I would make more there than I would at home.

"That was the p'int," added Terry, with a wink, as he replaced his cap; "and there was where me genius showed itself; I spoke about the big lot of furs that had to be gathered, and how much money the hunters would make, and what a chance there was for a risin' young man of industrious habits. The owld gintleman took it in, and at last said, bein' as I had the new gun, why he didn't know but what I might give it a trial.

"Wal, that was all I wanted. I started to run over last night to tell ye, but afore I got to yer house I thought of this 'cute plan of s'prisin' ye. I got all ready last night, ate breakfast airly, and was down here and had me gun just as I observed ye makin' yer way across the clearin' toward this spot."

And so it came about that on this beautiful sunshiny day in autumn, Fred Linden and Terry Clark set out, each with ammunition and loaded rifle, for a hundred mile tramp toward the wild region of the Ozark Mountains. The air was crisp and cool, and every thing joined to give them a buoyancy of spirits such as falls to the lot only of rugged, growing boys in bounding health.

The two, however, had seen enough of life in the woods to know that the sunshine and clear air would not last. They might continue until they reached camp, but more than likely clouds, rain, chilly weather and possibly a flurry of snow would overtake them. Winter was at hand, and though, as I have shown, they were in quite a temperate clime, it was subject to violent changes, as trying as those in a much more northern latitude.

Besides, the trail, although distinctly marked, did not lead over any thing like even ground all the way. Long before they could reach the vicinity of the camp the character of the country told of the wild, rocky region, covering thousands of square miles, and known as the Ozark Mountains. No route could lead to such a distance through an unsettled country without crossing a number of streams, and passing through regions that were any thing but attractive to the traveler.

All this, however, gave just the element of danger and difficulty to the enterprise that was one of the most delightful features to the young lads, who stepped off with swinging gait to the southward. Had the journey been smooth and even, it would have lost the major part of its charms.

The boys carried enough with them to give them all they were likely to need in the way of food for twenty-four hours. It would have been little trouble to take enough to last through the four days; but there was something unprofessional in such a course which caused their souls to rebel. The magnificent forest contained plenty of game, and they would have been poor sportsmen, indeed, had they confessed by their action that they distrusted their ability to procure it.

The trail over which the two walked, Fred slightly in advance, was marked with such distinctness by the hoofs of the six horses that had passed along it in Indian file but a short time before that it was no trouble for the boys to recognize it, nor were they likely to have any difficulty in keeping to it throughout the whole distance.

It was a little past noon, when they reached a small brook whose current was so cold and clear that they took a long draught from it, and then sat down and ate their simple lunch. They felt little fatigue, and as a goodly number of miles remained to be traveled, according to the schedule of Fred Linden, they leaped lightly across the waste and were soon under way again.

"Do you know," said Fred, later in the afternoon, "that I've been thinking we have not paid enough attention to one or two important matters."

"What are they?"

"I don't know what has become of Deerfoot, and we may not see him again; but we know enough of him to understand that whatever he says is worth remembering. Now, he told us yesterday that that Winnebago, from whom he took that rifle, belonged to a party of those warriors, and it seems to me that if they are anywhere, it is between us and the camp, and we are likely to see more of them."

"I'm of the same opinion with yersilf, but jest now there is somethin' else that gives me concern."

"What is that?" asked the surprised Fred, stopping and turning around.

"Some person or animal has been followin' us for the last half hour. I've heard it more than once, and it ain't fur off this very minute."

The two boys stood still and looked over the trail along which they had been traveling. Fred Linden's fear was that Terry had discovered the presence of some of the very Winnebagos whom he dreaded, but he was mistaken. That which they saw was not a person, but a strange animal of such fierce mien and hostile intent that they instantly looked to their rifles, knowing that a savage fight was inevitable.



CHAPTER XIII.

A TROUBLESOME VISITOR.

There is no reason to discredit the truth of the accounts given by hunters in the west of wild beasts of prodigious activity, strength and ferocity, and that, belonging to no distinct class of animals, are a mixture of the fiercest. Trappers and explorers in the wild regions of the Rocky Mountains, sometimes meet a beast to which they have given the expressive name of "Indian devil," whose power and daring are such that a party of veteran hunters have been known to withdraw from a section frequented by him, simply to avoid a fight. While the stories about them may be exaggerated at times, there is no doubt that such animals exist, and there is good reason to hold them in dread.

The beast that Fred Linden and Terry Clark saw in the path before them resembled a panther more than any animal they could call to mind. It might have been described as a cross between a tiger and panther, had that been possible. Fred had heard his father speak of those creatures that were detested and feared, and he was sure that they were going to have trouble with this one. How fortunate that each boy held a loaded gun in his grasp!

The action of the hybrid was as peculiar as his appearance. He seemed to have been trotting quietly along the trail with his nose down, as though following the scent, when he became aware that his game had stopped, and were surveying him with some interest. The beast also came to an abrupt halt and threw up his head, as though he was equally curious to learn something about the party of the first part.

Standing thus, with his nose quite high in the air, it struck both boys that he showed a resemblance to a wolf as well as a panther. He was larger than either, and there could be no doubt that he was amazingly muscular, active and courageous.

Thus stood the opposing parties, as they may be called, for a full minute. Each looked steadily at the other, the space between them being no more than fifty yards. Had it been less, both boys would have fired at him, but they were afraid that such wounds as they could inflict would only rouse his fury. One of the most marked peculiarities of the "Indian devil" is his toughness, some of the stories in this respect being almost incredible.

All at once the beast seemed to be overcome with disgust for the two youngsters. He whisked squarely about and trotted away, showing a bushy fox-like tail that almost swept the ground.

"I call that an insoolt!" exclaimed Terence Clark, bringing his gun to his shoulder, taking quick aim and letting fly, before his companion could object. He insisted that he had hit the animal, but it is likely he was mistaken, for it gave no sign of being touched, trotting with the same even step until it passed from sight around a bend in the path.

"I hit him hard," insisted Terry, who proceeded to reload his piece; "there's no doubt of the same."

"If you had done so, he would have given some evidence of it, but there was not the slightest."

"Ye know that such creatures are tough," coolly remarked Terry; "and the bullet has glanced off his side as from a rock."

"If I could believe that," said the other, "I would hide somewhere until he went away, for it would be only a waste of powder and ball to shoot at him."

"Hasn't he gone off? What are ye talking about?"

"Gone away? Yes; for awhile, but we are not done with that beast yet; we shall have trouble with him."

"If we keep our guns loaded and our powder dry, we'll open on him, and if we can't kill him we'll fill him with so much lead that he won't be able to travel fast, and we'll bid him good-by and walk from him."

The boys waited a few minutes, thinking possibly that the strange creature would show himself again, but he did not appear, and they turned about and resumed their journey.

They were now on one of the best stretches of the trail. The ground was even, there were no bowlders or rocks in the path to make walking difficult, and the undergrowth, which in some places was quite an obstruction, did not interfere. By the middle of the afternoon, Fred was confident they were twenty miles at least on the road, and he said that if they came upon an inviting place, they would go into camp for the night. The package which each carried on his back was wrapped in a blanket that could be used to lie upon by the fire, or in severe weather, though they would have cared little had they owned nothing of the kind.

Their good spirits continued, and they were walking at a leisurely pace, when a rustling in the bushes on the left caused them to look in that direction. There stood the strange beast, not fifty feet away, head erect, and staring at them with the same inquiring look that he showed some time before.

"I wonder how he likes a side view of us," said Terry, partly amused, but somewhat frightened; "I think he is close enough for us to fetch him this time."

Fred was inclined to give him a shot, but he felt some doubt, and while he was considering the question, the beast whisked about and vanished like a flash.

"He is a strange animal," said Fred, lowering his gun, which he was in the act of raising; "and I am more satisfied now than ever that we shall have trouble with him. The first time that we gain a fair shot, that is, like we had just now, let's tumble him over. He may be as daring and tough as the hunters say, but there isn't any animal tough enough to withstand a couple of well-aimed bullets."

"I agree wid ye—that is, after one was fired. That shot of mine was well aimed and struck, but it takes somethin' more to bring him down, as a colored friend of mine once said when a house tumbled over on his head."

"You saw how spry a creature he is, and if he should happen to drop down upon us from the branch of a tree, those sharp claws of his would play the mischief with us."

Since there was no place in sight that suited for camping, Terry reloaded, and they kept on. After the fright they had received, you may be sure they maintained a close watch of the wood in every direction. As yet they had seen no game from which to procure food, but they wanted to go into camp near a spring or stream of water. The latter is generally looked upon as one of the indispensables by a party of campers, and it was not likely that the youths would have to travel far before finding what they wanted.

The sun had not yet dropped below the horizon when they struck the very spot. There were the bubbling brook, lined by mossy banks, the small open space, the tall column-like trunks; and the heavy overhanging boughs, which, late though it was in the season, would allow but few drops of a shower to find their way through. The air was cool, but there were no signs of a storm.

"There couldn't be a better place," said Fred, when he had noted all the points; "here is every thing that a party can want, except it be supper, which they ought to bring with them."

"And somebody has been here ahead of us," added Terry, kicking apart the ashes at the base of a large tree; "there's where the fire was kindled."

"No doubt it is where father and the rest of them spent the first night after leaving home: that shows that we have made good progress, and, if no accident happens, we shall arrive on time."

"There is no need of our hurryin', as I understood that a gintleman once obsarved whin they were goin' to hang him; if we are two or three days late in gettin' there, what's the odds?"

"None—though this fine weather can not last long, and when it is over, I should like to be at the end of our journey, where we shall have good shelter. I wonder what has become of the wild beast?"

"Be the powers! but there he comes!"

The words had hardly passed the lips of the startled Terry Clark, when the strange animal was seen in the path in front of them, in precisely the same position as when first noticed. He had evidently passed around to the front, as though determined to study the boys from every point of view. He seemed to have been standing for some minutes before discovered by the boys, and was now observed approaching, as the Irish lad had announced.

He did not gallop or trot, but walked slowly, just as though having made up his mind to take a select meal off the youngsters, he was going to do so with the deliberation of an epicure that extracts the fullest enjoyment from his delicacies.

There was something unnerving in the sight of the frightful animal approaching in this noiseless fashion, his jaws parted just enough to show his long, white teeth, but giving utterance to no growl, or threatening act, beyond the mere advance itself. His large, round eyes had a phosphorescent glow, and the long, sinewy body and limbs were the repository of a strength and activity that might well make a veteran hunter timid about encountering him.

"By gracious!" said Fred Linden; "we're in for it now; he doesn't mean to wait for us to attack him, but is coming for us."

"If I was called on to make a wager," said Terry, as cool as ever, "that would be the view that I would take of the same."

"You fire first and I will follow; take good aim, and send your bullet right between the eyes."

There was no time to spare, for the beast at that instant was within a dozen yards. Terry Clark brought his rifle to his shoulder, sighted quickly, and pulled the trigger.

That he struck the creature was proven by his snarling growl and slight upward leap; but instead of stopping, he broke into a gallop and came straight on.

Then Fred Linden aimed and fired, but he also failed to check the advance of the animal.



CHAPTER XIV.

A WELCOME ALLY.

Fred Linden, like his companion, aimed directly between the eyes of the strange beast, and, like him, he struck the mark; but both shots only served to awake the irrestrainable ferocity of the animal, which, with another rasping howl and parted jaws, bounded toward them. Since both weapons were discharged, and they had no other firearms, the boys were almost helpless, and it may be said their enemy was upon them.

"Run!" called out Fred, wheeling about and leaping toward a tree, behind which he took refuge; but sturdy Terry had no thought of turning away from such a foe. Throwing one foot back so as to steady himself, he seized his fine rifle with both hands, near to the muzzle, and held it so as to use it as a club or shillaleh.

The brute was so close that he had no more than time to gather his strength, and swing the heavy stock with might and main, when the animal bounded at him straight from the ground.

There was a "dull thud," as it may be called, and the stock crashed against the side of the beast's head, knocking him a couple of yards to the left, and almost at the feet of Fred Linden; but in point of fact the blow did no harm except to thwart the creature for a second or two.

He was now snarling, and gave utterance to one or two peculiar barking sounds like a dog or wolf. His eyes were ablaze, and there could be no doubt that his fury was at white heat. Crouching for an instant, he made a bound for Terry, before he had time to balance himself to deliver his second blow with the same power as the first.

Fred Linden could not stand still and see his companion torn to shreds in that fashion. He leaped from behind the tree, with his gun also clubbed, and hastened to strike with all his might; but he was too late.

It was a curious fact, not understood at the moment, that the savage creature, although he leaped straight at Terry, passed fully two feet over his head, and that, too, when the lad was standing erect, and braced to deliver his second blow.

Striking on his belly, several paces beyond, the beast rolled over and over, clawing, snapping, snarling, and beating the air, with lightning-like blows. The leaves and dust flew in all directions, and the foam which he spat from his jaws was flecked with blood.

He continued rolling and struggling until he was a rod distant, and then suddenly stopped, stone dead.

In the excitement and swirl of the moment both Fred and Terry were conscious that their guns were not the only ones that were fired. At the instant the brute was in the act of rising from the ground a second time for his leap, the sharp report of another rifle was heard. The peril was so imminent that the lads could give no attention just then to any thing but the immediate business in hand; but now, seeing their fearful foe was dead, they knew that it was the third bullet that had done it, and they glanced around to see who their friend was.

No one was in sight, and they advanced to the carcass, which they were somewhat timid about touching, even though convinced that it was beyond the power of doing any more harm. They saw that both of their bullets had struck the skull, though not at the precise points at which they aimed. One had passed near the right eye of the nondescript, and must have inflicted serious injury, but its toughness would have enabled it to keep up the fight, and to have slain both of the boys before they could have reloaded and fired a second time.

A little search showed where the fatal wound had been given. Just in front of the fore leg the lead had entered and gone through the heart. No animal, so far as known, amounts to any thing after his heart has been torn in twain, though he may live and move for a time.

"I tell you, Terry, that I don't believe there is another beast in the country that, after receiving two bullets in the head, like that, could make such a fight."

"I begs to corrict ye," said the other; "it was three shots, for do ye not mind that I bored a hole through him when we first made his acquaintance?"

"So you claimed, but you haven't explained how it was that such a shot could be made without leaving any wound?"

"It may have healed up since then," suggested the Irish lad, who knew as well as his companion that the first bullet did not touch the beast.

"I hadn't thought of that," meekly observed Fred; "but there is one thing certain, that if that last shot hadn't been fired, it would have been the last of us: where could it have come from?" he asked, looking around and finding the answer to his question in the sight of Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who came from behind a clump of bushes on the other side of the small stream.

Fred uttered an exclamation of delight when he recognized the graceful young warrior, who was holding the stock of his gun in his left hand, with the barrel resting idly in the hollow of his right arm. Fred jumped across the brook, with hand extended to greet him.

"I'd rather see you than any person in the world," was the truthful exclamation of the youth: "when you gave me the letter yesterday I thought what a splendid trip this would be if Terry would go with me, and behold, he has come! I would have liked to have you too but I didn't dare say so, for I didn't think it was possible: but ever since we started I have felt that we only lacked you to make the party complete. Now, ain't I glad to see you, and how are you, old fellow?"

The lad in his boisterous way wrung the hand of Deerfoot and slapped him on the shoulder; then laughed, and shook hands again with an enthusiasm that left no doubt of the cordiality of his welcome.

As for Deerfoot, he showed a gentle dignity that was never absent. His faint smile lit up his handsome face, and he was pleased with the pleasure of the others.

"Deerfoot has seen the faces of his brothers not many times, but it brings sunshine to his heart to meet them again."

Then his countenance was crossed by an expression of gravity like an eclipse passing over the face of the sun.

"Is my brother ill, that he suffers so much?"

This question referred to Terry Clark, Deerfoot looking over the shoulder of Fred at the Irish lad behind him. Fred heard a curious noise, and turned to learn what it meant. His friend had leaned his gun against the nearest tree, so as to give his limbs free play, and was flinging his arms aloft, and dancing a jig with a vigor that made it look as if his legs were shot out, and back and forth, by some high pressure engine. Now and then he flung his cap aloft, and, as it came down, ducked his head under and dexterously caught it. His mouth was puckered up most of the time, while he whistled with might and main, though the energy of his general movements shut out all resemblance to a tune. Occasionally he stopped whistling and broke into snatches of song which, from the same cause, could not be identified.

Fred Linden laughed. He was demonstrative, but not so much so as Terry. Looking sideways at Deerfoot, he saw his eyes sparkling and the corners of his mouth twitching. Rarely had he been amused as much as he now was by the extravagant manifestations of the Irish lad, for whom he had formed a strong regard.

Deerfoot and Fred having turned their glances toward Terry, the latter appeared to catch sight of them for the first time. With a whoop he flung his hat higher than ever in the air, caught it with right side up on his crown as it came down, and then shouted:

"How are yees, me friends?" and made a dash for them.

In his enthusiasm he forgot the brook running through a small hollow between them. His feet went down in the depression without any knowledge on his part, and he sprawled headlong, his cap rolling at the feet of Deerfoot, who pushed the toe of his moccasin under the edge, and flung it to him as he rose to his feet.

"It's all the same, and a part of the show," laughed Terry, "as the wife of the bear-keeper obsarved when the bear ate him up, and it's how are ye, and how do ye ixpect to be, and what have ye to say for yersilf, and why are ye so long answerin' me quistion?"

Deerfoot simply smiled, and made no reply until Terry had replaced his cap, and was done with his noisy greeting. Then he pointed to his gun leaning against the tree, and said:

"When my brother is in the woods, he should keep his gun within reach of his arm."

"Yer moral sentiments are corrict," remarked Terry, hurrying back—this time without falling—to regain his piece. When he once more stood beside the laughing Fred, the Shawanoe addressed both:

"Are the guns of my brothers loaded?"

Both felt the rebuke; they had violated one of the elementary rules of the hunter's life, which is that the first thing to be done after discharging a weapon is to reload it. Fred flushed, for he did not remember that he had ever forgotten it before.

"It was a piece of forgetfulness of which Terry and I ought to be ashamed, but it was the first time we had ever had a fight with such a beast as that: what do you call it, Deerfoot?"

The Shawanoe shook his head to signify that he knew of no distinct name for the animal, but he explained to the boys, what they already knew, that it was a cross of some kind, concentrating in itself, as it seemed, all the power, activity, daring and ferocity of the most dreaded animals of the woods. Deerfoot could not deny that his shot had saved the boys from being torn to shreds by the brute. Had it been a few seconds later, or differently aimed, nothing could have saved them from its fury.



CHAPTER XV.

"DEERFOOT WILL BE SENTINEL TO-NIGHT."

"We are on our way to the camp in the Ozarks," said Fred Linden; "and am I mistaken in believing that you will go with us all the way?"

"Such is the wish of Deerfoot," replied the Shawanoe, whereat Terry Clark gave signs of breaking out again; but at a warning look from Fred he restrained himself.

"Deerfoot loves the Hunters of the Ozark; he has promised to make them a visit; he will do so with his friends that he has found in the woods, and who forget to keep their guns loaded."

"No use!" exclaimed Terry, bounding in the air, striking his heels together, and flinging his hat aloft with a loud whoop; "I must give gintle exprission to me emotions, even though it makes a war with England."

The others showed no objection to this harmless ebullition, and he speedily became quiet again.

Had Fred Linden been intimately acquainted with Deerfoot, he would have noticed that he was not entirely at ease. Now and then he darted glances about him, as though he half expected the appearance of some unwelcome person. The glances were so quick and furtive that neither Fred nor Terry noticed them.

"Deerfoot," said Fred, the three still standing; "we have concluded that there isn't a better place along the trail for a camp."

To the surprise of the boys, he shook his head in dissent.

"Why, this is where father and the rest spent the night when they last went this way."

He nodded to signify that he agreed with them.

"There were three of them, and they had their horses, that could not be well hid; when my brothers go into camp for the night, they should take a place where all who went by would not see them."

It struck the others as curious that the Shawanoe should talk in that fashion, when they could not see any cause for alarm; but they had enough faith in him to accept his judgment on such an important matter. He added:

"Come with Deerfoot and he will show his brothers where they may slumber in peace."

Without any more explanation the Shawanoe moved down the bank of the brook, following a course parallel to the flow of the water, the other two keeping at his heels. He did not look around until he had gone more than a hundred yards. Then it was that the little party found itself in a rocky section, with a rough cavern on their right—that is, the bowlders and rocks were jumbled together in such a fashion that there was some resemblance to a cave. The chief merit of the place, however, was the privacy that it afforded, rather than the strength as a means of defense against an enemy.

"This suits very well," said Fred, taking in all the points at a glance; "here is a rocky bed on which we can start a fire, and the other rocks and bowlders will keep off the wind, if there happens to be any; the water is handy, if we should need it, and it is certain that we are not as likely to be seen here as where we first selected."

"Deerfut," said Terry, who was nosing about, "I obsarve ashes here, as though somebody had been ahead of us."

"Deerfoot built a fire but a few moons ago, and staid over night."

"If it was good enough for ye, I can stand it," said Terry, "which is the remark me uncle made when the Duke of Argyle asked him to stay to dinner."

The boys unfastened the bundles from their backs and prepared to spend the night where they were. The blankets were spread on the flinty floor, and Deerfoot, setting down his gun beside theirs, helped to gather the wood with which to keep a fire burning. The three were so active that it took but a short time to collect all that was needed. This was thrown into one pile, from which it could be withdrawn as wanted.

I must give you a better idea of the spot where the three decided to spend their first night in the woods together. They had walked northward from the trail, and, so far as they could see, the country was of the most broken nature, though the abundance of trees and undergrowth did not permit an extended view. Two masses of stone rose to the height of a dozen feet, and were separated by about the same distance. These rough walls extended back to a distance of three or four yards, where they came against a similar formation. Thus, as may be said, there were three sides to an inclosure, that part facing the brook being entirely open. On top of these supports were tumbled an irregular mass of bowlders and rocks which formed the roof. The latter had so many openings that it was as well ventilated as the roof of the house about which the Arkansas Traveler tells us.

The rear part of the cavern, if it may be allowed that name, was stone, while the front was earth. Near the center, Deerfoot had kindled his fire when he staid there, the smoke finding ready escape through the openings above. Such a fire might give some warmth were it needed, but the blaze was so well hidden by the surrounding walls that it was not likely to be seen by any one passing no nigher than fifty feet: therein lay the reason why it was selected by Deerfoot.

After piling up the fuel for the night, the youths threw some branches on the ground, near the rear of the cavern, and then spread their blankets over them. The Shawanoe carried no blanket with him, so it was expected that he would share the couch of his friends.

While the three were busying themselves in this manner, Fred Linden was disturbed by a suspicion that had been growing from the moment Deerfoot expressed dissatisfaction with the spot selected for their camp. This suspicion was that the young Indian had a fear of something to which, as yet, he had made no reference.

I have already shown that it was not generally considered a dangerous business in which the hunters of Ozark engaged. The rough, outdoor life sometimes brought with it hardships, and occasionally sufferings, but chief among the dangers was not that from Indians. It was known that now and then the red men fired spiteful shots at the invaders of their hunting grounds (as was the case with Michael Clark, the father of Terence), but in this section of the west that particular peril was deemed less than that which threatened from wild beasts. There was no instance of the hunters having been molested on their way to and from the trapping regions: why then this special caution of Deerfoot?

Fred Linden, while turning these thoughts over in his mind, gave but the one answer—the Winnebago. He was an intruder in that part of Louisiana, and he had shown by his acts how ready he was to shed the blood of innocent white persons. It was not a supposition merely that this fierce warrior had companions. The keen eyes of Deerfoot had discovered the proofs that there were a half dozen, at least, with him, and from whom he separated for a short time while he entered into the "side speculation" with Brindle and her bell; so it will be seen that Fred Linden was not only right in his suspicion that the Wolf had to do with the unrest of Deerfoot, but that the latter possessed good cause for his misgiving.

The Winnebagos, having drifted so far away from their own hunting grounds into this part of the world, were either going further from home, or were on their way back. Had the Wolf behaved himself, the band would have gone and come without the knowledge of any of the pioneers, unless there was a chance meeting in the wood, when it is not likely that any harm would have resulted.

But one of the Winnebagos was struck in the face by a white boy, while a young Indian, a friend of the latter, having "got the drop" on the Wolf, had taken his gun from him. In other words, the crime of assault and robbery had been committed.

Would the rest of the Winnebagos pocket the outrage and meekly withdraw from the country?

That, it would be seen, was the all important question, upon which great events, as affecting the friends in whom we are interested, hinged.

It was in violation of the nature of the American race that any member thereof should refuse to resent an indignity, when there was a chance of doing so. The Winnebagos had the best of reasons for believing that, by prowling around the settlement, or along the trail leading thereto, they would soon gain an opportunity to wipe out the disgrace put upon the Wolf, and, if not able to get back the gun that had been taken from him, would be able to procure another.

The fact that this valuable weapon was carried in the hands of a boy, who had started to tramp through the woods to a point a hundred miles off, and that it was not at all impossible that the Winnebagos found, or would find it out, gave emphasis to the cause of Deerfoot's uneasiness.

It is worthy of note that, while Terry Clark never once took this view of the situation, it occurred to his friend Fred, who waited for the Shawanoe to make some reference to it.

"He knows best, and if he doesn't choose to say any thing about it, there is no call for me to do so."

The shadows of night were creeping through the wood when the fire was started, and the smoke began stealing upward through the openings in the rocky roof.

"Deerfoot," said Fred, when the fire crackled brightly, "the rule is, that a party in camp like this, must have some one on guard while the others sleep. I don't know as there is any need now, but if you think so, let Terry and me do it, for we are not in need of sleep."

The Shawanoe looked at him intently for a moment as though he would read his thoughts, and then quietly said:

"Deerfoot will be sentinel to-night!"



CHAPTER XVI.

AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.

Inasmuch as Terry and Fred had enough lunch left to furnish all that was wanted, Deerfoot decided not to hunt for any thing else. At that hour, when it was growing dark, it would have been hard to find any game; but he told them that at no great distance above, the tiny brook issued from a small lake, where he could easily get all the fish he wanted.

Accordingly, the fire having been started at the rear of the cavern, where the smoke found free vent, the three sat within a circle of light, and partook of the coarse bread and cold venison. The latter was tough, but it could not withstand the teeth of the two youths, whose appetites were such as wait on high health.

It was noticeable that the young Shawanoe ate no more than half as much as each of the others. Then saying that he wished to view the camp from the outside, he went out in front of the cavern. He remarked that he would be gone only a few minutes, but he took his gun with him.

When Deerfoot emerged from the rude shelter it was fully dark. There was a moon in the sky, but the density of the surrounding forest kept out the rays, so that the gloom could not be penetrated to any distance.

He stood still and listened. His sense of hearing, like that of sight, was trained to a wonderfully fine point, as you have learned in the incidents previously related, so that faint noises, such as you or I could not have detected, would have told their full story to him.

But nothing more than what may be called the natural sounds of the wood fell on his ear. Then the young Indian leaped lightly across the small brook in front of the cavern and walked some two rods beyond, where he paused and listened again. After this he made a complete circuit of the cavern. This compelled him to cross the little stream once more, brought him back to the mouth of the retreat, and caused him also to climb over a great deal of broken ground, but a shadow could not have made the circuit more noiselessly. He stopped several times and listened with the same profound attention, occasionally looking toward the cavern within which his friends were eating their supper and talking together in low, guarded tones. He caught the murmur of their voices, which would have been audible to no one else beyond a dozen feet. Just above the large opening in the cavern, through which most of the smoke found its way, a faint, dull glow showed that the camp-fire was burning below.

The inspection made by Deerfoot was satisfactory; he had discovered no sign of any prowling enemy, and the party could not have found a place where there was less likelihood of disturbance by any foes who were in the neighborhood. It would seem indeed that nothing short of a most exceptional mishap could bring any danger near. So he once more entered the cavern, and seated himself by the fire, upon which Fred Linden had just thrown a bundle of sticks that filled the cavern with a light like that of noonday.

Terry insisted that Deerfoot should take his blanket, because the Shawanoe had none, and the one belonging to Fred Linden was enough for the others. Deerfoot at first declined, but his young friend persevered, so the half-dozen yards of heavy stuff were spread on the rock and earth floor of the cabin, and then Deerfoot disposed of himself in a lolling attitude, reclining on his left elbow, while he looked across and through the blaze at his two friends, who were stretched out in almost a similar attitude. It will be borne in mind that he was nearer the mouth of the cavern than were the others: in fact he was about half-way between where they were stretched and the open air. Fred and Terry did not notice this, or, if they did, they supposed it was accidental, though it was done with forethought by the sagacious young Shawanoe.

The evening was yet young, and the circumstances were such as to make the boys talk at a rate that almost overwhelmed Deerfoot, who always showed a deliberation in his speech, as if he weighed each word before allowing it to fall from his lips.

Fred and Terry had formed a strong liking for the young Shawanoe, and since he seemed to be in fine spirits, they plied him with questions until they learned the chief facts in his history. When the long conversation ended they knew that Deerfoot was the son of a Shawanoe chief, and that he was born in the Dark and Bloody Ground. When but a small boy he was like a spitting wildcat in his hatred of the white people, and it was not until he was wounded and nearly beaten to death, that he could be taken prisoner on one of the excursions of his people against the white settlements.

He fell into goods hands and was nursed back to strength. Not only that, but those that had him in direct charge told him about God, who made the world, who loved His creatures, and who sorrowed to see them trying to harm each other, and who had sent His only Son to die for His lost children. It was a wonderful story to which Deerfoot listened with rapt attention, and all in time (as you have been told in another place), the extraordinary young Shawanoe became a devout follower of the meek and lowly One. He felt that he could never repay the whites for showing him the way to eternal life. Thenceforward he became their friend, and devoted his life to protecting them against the enmity of the red men.

Deerfoot told Fred and Terry something about his stirring experiences with Ned Preston and Wildblossom Brown, and afterward with Jack Carleton and Otto Relstaub, but did not hint at one-tenth the services he had rendered the white people. Of all the fierce tribes that made portions of Ohio and Kentucky like sheol on earth, the Shawanoes were the worst: they were the Apaches of the last century. Deerfoot had fallen into their hands and many of his most desperate encounters were with them. Finally the efforts to take him prisoner became so far reaching that he saw that his usefulness as a friend of the settlements was at end. The rage of the Shawanoes was such that it may be said that some of their campaigns were planned with the sole purpose of capturing the young renegade, whom they hated with a hatred like that of the tigers of the jungle.

You will see, therefore, that not only was the usefulness of Deerfoot as an ally of the whites ended, but he became even an element of danger to them. He had been urged to make his home with those who held him in such high regard, but he could not do so. He quietly withdrew from the country and crossed the Mississippi into the vast Louisiana Territory. There he had lived for a couple of years, and there he expected to end his days.

"Deerfoot," said Fred Linden, when his remarkable narration had ended, "Terry and I are not new hands in the woods, and we would be much better satisfied if you would allow us to share the night in watching with you."

"Why does my brother think of danger?"

"Because you do; I know it by your actions."

The quickness of this reply struck Deerfoot favorably. He did not think that his conduct had been noticed, and he was gratified that his friend was so observant. That there should be no mistake about his suspicions, Fred added:

"I don't know whether you have seen that Winnebago or not since you started him on the run yesterday; he may be still running, but I am quite sure, from the way you have behaved, that you suspect that he and the rest of his companions are prowling through the woods, on the lookout for a chance to revenge themselves."

Deerfoot's face glowed. Fred Linden had hit the nail on the head.

"My brother speaks the words of truth; his thoughts are the thoughts of Deerfoot."

Terry Clark looked at his companion in astonishment.

"How come ye to know all that, Fred?"

"I see nothing remarkable about it; all I had to do was to observe the actions of Deerfoot since he joined us to-day. In the first place, he wouldn't have made us change our camping place if he hadn't had some misgiving, and then the way he has been mousing around the outside, and his decision to keep watch to-night: why what could tell the story more plainly?"

"Begorrah," said the admiring Terry, "ye are not such a big fool as you look to be; I never thought of that."

"Which looks as if you are a bigger dunce than you seem; but," added Fred, turning toward the Shawanoe, "have you seen any thing of the Winnebagos?"

"Deerfoot has seen their footprints in the woods; they are on the watch for his white brothers that they may gain their scalps, because the gun of the Wolf was taken from him."

"They seem to have hard work in finding us: where do those Winnebagos come from?"

Deerfoot pointed to the northward, or rather to a little east of north.

"Their hunting grounds are many suns' travel that way."

"Why do the spalpeens come down in this part of the world, and why don't they behave thimselves whin they do?" demanded Terry, with some indignation.

Deerfoot shook his head, as though the question was more than he could answer.

"Deerfoot has met Shawanoes and Sacs and Wyandottes and Pawnees far away from their villages and hunting grounds, besides the strange Indians who come much further from the setting sun. The red men travel whither they will. Why the Winnebagos passed near the home of my brothers only they can tell."

"Well, they're a bad lot," said Terry, "to try the mean trick they did on me; though," he added the next moment, "I'm glad they done the same, for if they hadn't, how would I've got hold of this lovely gun? Do ye think we shall have any more trouble with them?"

"Deerfoot believes there will be trouble, and it will come soon!"

"Well, if it does, all ye have to do is to take away the rist of their guns and set 'em on the run home agin."



CHAPTER XVII.

A SUSPICIOUS SOUND.

By and by Fred Linden and Terry Clark became drowsy. Devoutly kneeling, they spent several minutes in prayer, and then stretched out on a single blanket, with their backs toward each other, and the face of Fred in such a position that he could look across the blaze at Deerfoot on the other side. The latter had remained still and motionless, while the lads, remembering the lesson they had learned at their mothers' knee, asked their Heavenly Father to hold them in His keeping. The young Shawanoe, who spent many an hour in communion with his Maker, was touched to see that his friends did not forget their duty.

Deerfoot stirred the burning wood so that it threw out more light, and then, reclining on his left elbow, so that the illumination came directly in his face (the worst direction possible), he drew from beneath his hunting-shirt the small Bible, that had been presented to him by the Preston family, and began reading it.

Fred Linden, who had his eyes fixed upon him, was so interested that his drowsiness departed. Without moving he watched him closely. He saw him turning the leaves back and forth, as if looking for some place he had in mind. It took him but a minute to find it, when, still leaning on his elbow, and with the light striking his face and the printed page, he seemed to become so absorbed as to lose all consciousness of his surroundings.

Fred Linden, without betraying that he was awake, surveyed this remarkable performance with an admiration that for the moment made his eyes misty with emotion.

The eyes of Deerfoot were downcast, as he read the page, so that they could not be seen but the handsome oval face; the luxuriant black hair, with the eagle feathers thrust into the crown; the rows of gleaming beads around the neck; the deerskin shirt that covered the breast and arms to the wrists, on the left one of which shone the golden bracelet; the red sash, behind which were shoved the knife and tomahawk; the brilliant fringes of the hunting-shirt and leggins; the small, ornamented moccasins; all these of themselves made a striking figure; but Fred, handsome and rugged himself, who was not accustomed to see any thing like beauty in the human form, was struck with the symmetry of the figure before him. He particularly noticed the tapering legs, and could not help saying to himself:

"There is no Indian or white man that can run as fast as he."

And the mental declaration of the lad was truth. The fleetness of the young warrior had never been equaled, and he had never yet met the person whom he could not outrun with ease and without putting forth his whole speed.

"He don't look strong, but he is the last person that I would want to meet in a fight; I'll bet he is so quick that he could dodge the bullet fired at him."

I must draw the line here: Deerfoot could not do any thing of the kind.

"And he is reading his Bible! I never in all my life saw an Indian who could read a word of print, or do more than sign his name with a cross or some figure like a bug: I wonder whether we couldn't hire him to teach school for us at Greville."

Fred thought a great many queer things about his new friend, but lay watching him fully ten minutes before he spoke. Then, when he saw him turn a leaf, he said in a low voice:

"Deerfoot, will you please read aloud?"

Fred expected that the Shawanoe would start and look up in surprise; but he never raised his eyes, or gave the least sign that these words of his were unexpected. He knew that Fred was watching him from the first, and so, before the words were more than fairly out of his mouth, Deerfoot began reading in a low, impressive monotone, as though he had merely resumed, after turning over the leaf.

"After this I beheld, and lo! a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindred, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands;

"And all the angels stood round about the throne, and about the elders, and the four beasts, and fell before the throne on their faces and worshiped God.

"Singing, Amen; blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be unto our God for ever and for ever, Amen.

"And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, Who are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?

"And I said unto him, sir, thou knowest. And he said unto me, these are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

"Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve Him day and night in His temple; and He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them.

"They shall hunger no more, neither shall they thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.

"For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."

Deerfoot read a few minutes longer from his favorite part in the New Testament and then ceased. He had not lifted his eyes from the page, but he knew that Fred Linden was asleep. He observed it in his breathing, which was as soft as that of an infant.

The rocky cavern, the smoldering camp-fire, the two sleeping boys, the motionless Indian stretched out and reading his Bible by the faint light, the great, solemn forest walling them in, the profound stillness that reigned everywhere: these were elements in a picture the like of which it may be said (except where Deerfoot was one of the figures), had never been seen anywhere else, and was not likely ever to be seen again.

The fire sank lower and the light on the printed page became so dim that even the keen eyes of the young Shawanoe could not trace the words. He looked at the embers as if asking himself whether he should renew the blaze and continue reading. But the hour for meditation had come, and he closed the book. Looking fondly at the stiff, wooden cover, he touched his lips with infinite tenderness to it, and carefully placed it in the inner receptacle of his hunting-shirt, murmuring as he did so:

"The best friend that Deerfoot ever knew!"

O light of life! Comforter of the sorrowing heart! Consoler of the stricken soul!

In the flush of bounding health, when the passions throb high, we may not heed thy blessed teachings, but when man's promises prove false, and the head bows before the endless strife, and woes overwhelm us like a flood, there is relief, there is light, there is life in Thee. The wicked may jeer, the learned may scoff, the powerful may despise, the favored may turn away, but there comes the time when learning, gifts, wealth, power, beauty and all the world can give turn to ashes, and they have no boon compared to Thine. "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." The pampered monarch, the dying beggar, the statesman, the slave, the mother bowed with woe, the father shaken with grief, childhood in its innocence, man in his strength, beauty in its scorn, trembling old age, can find no balm but in Thee. Better that the sun should be blotted from the heavens and the earth left a trackless void than that Thy light should be denied the world.

Deerfoot lay flat on his face, his arms crossed so that his head and shoulders were held a few inches above the flinty floor, and his dark eyes were fixed on the embers in front. It was his favorite enjoyment, when the stirring incidents of the day were done, and he had read from the only Book he ever wanted to read, to spend a time in meditating on the truths that it may be said had become a part of his very being.

Many a time had he lain thus, as motionless as if dead, while the wonderful brain was busy with thoughts that stirred the profoundest depths of his nature. There are beliefs that come to us at which reason may laugh, but which it can not shake or disturb. There are questions that the glib unbeliever may ask that we can not answer. But away down in our hearts is a faith which the whole world can not remove, and which can be uprooted only by ourselves. Woe to him who dares lay violent hands upon it!

Deerfoot no more doubted that he and every one was in the direct keeping of God than he doubted that he breathed and moved. He knew that the Great Spirit had caused him to be made a prisoner by whites so that he might learn the way of life; he knew that He had given him an insight into the mysteries of His word that was denied to many others. A deep, outstretching sympathy for those less favored than he suffused his whole being. Gladly would he have given up his life in pain and torture and agony, as did One in the dim long ago, if by so doing he could earn the smile of his Heavenly Father.

But this remarkable young Christian felt that he was doing the work appointed for him to do. Here and there he dropped a word that proved to be seed sown upon good ground, and which had borne its fruit. He had met his enemies in fair combat and had never taken wrong advantage of them: his marvelous bow and arrow, and his still more effective rifle, had brought many a dusky miscreant low, but he had used his amazing gifts in the line of duty, and for the good of others. Would that he could have won them by love, but it was not in the nature of things that he should do so. He had "broken the Bread of Life" to more than one, and he hoped that ere he should be called home, he should point the way to others.

Suddenly he raised his chin from his hands and turned his head slightly to one side. His ear, whose acuteness was almost beyond belief, had caught a suspicious sound. Profound as might be the meditation of the Shawanoe, he could never forget his surroundings.



CHAPTER XVIII.

LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT.

The crisp autumn night had not reached its turn when the full moon climbed from behind the straggling clouds obscuring her face, into the clear air above, and shone down on the wilderness, with the same calm splendor with which it had shone during the ages before the foot of a white man had rested on the soil of our country. Here and there, at widely-separated points, as the orb moved toward the zenith, could be seen the star-like twinkles of light which showed where the sparse settlements had been planted by the pioneers. At intervals, too, miles away from the clearings, could be distinguished the glimmer of the hunters' camp-fires, where the hardy men had lain down wrapped in their blankets, and to sleep the sleep of health. Still further away, by the side of some calmly flowing river or creek, were the ragged tepees of the wild Indians. Mountain, forest and stream made up the landscape, that was illuminated by the moon on the night when Fred Linden and Terry Clark lay down in slumber by the fire in the cavern, and Deerfoot the Shawanoe took upon himself the duty of acting as a sentinel over them.

It was not yet midnight when the figure of a crouching Indian emerged like a shadow from the little gully which marked the course of the tiny stream in front of the camp. Just at the point where he appeared, a few rays of the moonlight found their way among the limbs, and added impressiveness to his appearance. A glance would have told that he had approached at the most stealthy gait of which he was capable, and was still using all the skill at his command.

Finding himself within the faint light of the moon, he straightened up, like one who is not certain of his surroundings and is using his eyes and ears to their utmost. Standing erect in this manner he showed himself to be a full-grown warrior in middle life, of strong limbs and frame, and attired in the usual dress of his people.

The long, coarse hair dangled about the shoulders, some of the strands having fallen forward in front of the chest, at the time his head drew it over while in a crouching posture. It grew so low on his forehead that no more than an inch was between the roots and shaggy eyebrows. Beneath these the eyes glittered like those of a snake. The ugly features were made more ugly by the different colored paints—most of it black—that was daubed over them, and the countenance was distorted by a swelling recently produced.

The breast and arms were covered by deerskin, a fringe running down in front to the belt, which held his tomahawk. The frightful horn-handled knife was tightly grasped in his right hand. Below the belt was breechcloth, followed by leggins and moccasins, but it was noticeable that he carried no rifle with him.

Perhaps you have guessed the reason; he had none to carry, for he was the Wolf who had been deprived of his valuable weapon on the day before by Deerfoot the Shawanoe.

As was learned in due time, the Winnebago, after being despoiled by Deerfoot, had made all haste to rejoin his band, that were encamped at no great distance from Greville. When he told his brother warriors of the indignity to which he had been subjected, they were as rampart as he for revenge. They were on the point of starting for a settlement, intending to await the chance to shoot down some of the unsuspecting people, when the leader, a man of iron will, interposed.

He said that according to the story of the Wolf himself, his gun had been taken from him by a single warrior. A Winnebago ought to be ashamed to confess such a thing, and the only way by which the Wolf could redeem himself was to recover his gun unaided by any of his people. Let him come back to the party with his rifle and then they would risk their lives a dozen times over to repay the young Shawanoe and his youthful friend (they knew nothing about Fred Linden) for the insult they had put upon one of the leading warriors of the Winnebago tribe.

You can well understand how displeasing this decision was to the Wolf, but there was no help for it. The warrior who gave the order was not only the leader of the company, but the principal chief of the tribe. No one dared to dispute his command, and he intimated that it was not only necessary for the Wolf to recover his gun in order to enlist the services of the rest, but his standing at home would be compromised if he went back without his rifle and the story that it had been taken from him by a single warrior of another tribe.

From this you will understand the eagerness with which the Wolf set out to regain the weapon.

The fact that Fred Linden and Terry Clark left Greville the next morning after the affair, mixed matters to that extent that, for a time, the Winnebago was at fault. It was his intention to prowl around the settlement, awaiting his chance, for he suspected that Deerfoot had gone thither with the lad who had given the Wolf such a blow in the face; but the discovery of the footprints of the two boys leading to the southward mystified the Indian. He was quite close to the creek, and the sun had crossed the meridian at the time this discovery was made. It was natural that he should look for the trail of the Shawanoe, but he could not find it.

Finally, with a half-suspicion of the truth, the Wolf went into the settlement to make inquiries. He could speak enough broken English to make himself understood, and, as it so happened, it was Mr. MacClaskey himself whom he accosted. He told the inquirer the truth, adding that Terry took with him a gun that was captured from a vagabond Indian. But for that he would not have been allowed to go, for there was but one rifle in the family, which the settler would trust in no hands but his own for any length of time.

The Winnebago was shrewd enough to disarm any doubt that might have been felt about himself. It was the rule in the settlement to show kindness to every wandering Indian that visited them, and no one dreamed that any thing was to be feared from the Wolf. But his heart was full of exulting malignancy. He knew who had the gun, and aware that the two boys had started for the camp of the Ozarks, he understood where to look for it. The fact that the Winnebago had no gun with him would have caused the belief that he was the vagabond Indian, had he not explained that he left it in the woods as a token of comity.

The Wolf sauntered back until he was across the stream and out of sight. Then he sped along the trail, with a long, loping trot, which his race can maintain for hours without fatigue. He had a long distance to travel, but he reached the scene of the encounter with the strange animal, just as it was growing dark.

At this point, he showed admirable woodcraft. The signs on the ground puzzled him for a time, but there was the carcass of the animal, and by and by he found the imprints of the small moccasins, which told him that the young Shawanoe had rejoined the others at this point.

As you can well believe, this was any thing but a pleasant discovery, for, superior as was the strength of the Winnebago, he would have preferred to meet the two boys, even though both were armed, than to find himself face to face again with the remarkable Indian youth.

But there was no help for it, and the dusky Winnebago compressed his coppery lips with the resolve that the gun should be in his hands before the rising of the morrow's sun.

The light was rapidly fading among the trees and he improved what was left of it. Prowling around the spot in a circle, with his nose close to the ground, he discovered that the three youths had started along the bank of the brook toward its head.

Thereupon the Winnebago formed the correct conclusion; they had moved from the main trail (doubtless on the suggestion of the young Shawanoe), in search of some place to encamp where there would be less danger of detection.

By the time the Wolf had satisfied himself on this point, it had become too dark among the trees for his eyes to detect the trail, which at mid-day would have been as distinct as a beaten path. He therefore adopted the plan of which I have made mention elsewhere: he followed a general rule.

The conclusion being that the parties for whom he was searching had located themselves somewhere along the creek, it was useless to try and follow the footprints, though there were points here and there where the sense of touch might have helped him. He decided to creep stealthily up stream until he found the camp, and then bide his time.

It is hard to form an idea of the extreme care with which this was done. Had the Winnebago not known of the presence of Deerfoot, he would not have taken half the time consumed, but he had seen enough of that wonderful youth to know that it would require more than a child to outwit him.

At a point about half way between the trail and the camp among the rocks, the Wolf thought his hands touched some imprints in the earth which showed that the three had turned to the right and gone deeper into the woods. It required reconnoitering before he discovered his mistake.

With the same amazing patience he renewed his stealthy progress up the stream, until at last he emerged into the moonlight and found that at last he had reached the spot for which he had hunted so long.

It so happened that as he straightened up, he looked directly into the mouth of the cave and saw the dull glow of the camp-fire, like the open eye of some monster. Not only that, but he observed the three forms stretched out by it. The heart of the savage throbbed with pleasure, for he felt that success had come at last.

With the same absolute noiselessness he began creeping into the mouth of the cavern. One of the embers fell apart with a soft rustle, which caused him to stop and hold his breath lest the sleepers should awake. But they did not stir, and in a minute he resumed his advance.

The two white lads had flung the blankets from their faces, so that he saw Fred Linden plainly, and enough of the other to identify him as the one who had smitten him. Nearer to the Winnebago than they was the third form, which he knew equally well.

"It is the Shawanoe," was his thought; "I will bury my knife in his heart and then slay the others."

A minute later he reached forward his upraised right hand and suddenly brought it down with a force that pinned the blanket to the earth. But to his unspeakable disgust Deerfoot was not within it.



CHAPTER XIX.

SHAWANOE AND WINNEBAGO.

While Fred Linden and Terry Clark lay in that part of the cavern where the floor was of rock, the blanket of Deerfoot was spread on the earth. Consequently when the Winnebago brought down his knife with such vicious spitefulness, it went through the folds of the blanket and was buried to the hilt in the ground underneath.

You know that, despite the marvelous quiet with which the Winnebago approached the cavern, he was heard by Deerfoot, who, pausing only long enough to make sure that an enemy was approaching, whisked outside. There he stood in the impenetrable shadow under the trees, and saw the Winnebago at the moment he emerged into the faint moonlight and stood upright.

The first look confirmed his suspicion that it was the Winnebago, who had come back to avenge himself for the affair of the preceding day. Deerfoot smiled to himself, for there was a tinge of absurdity about the whole business that was sure to become still more so.

The Shawanoe paused a few seconds before darting out of the cavern, until he could arrange his blanket, so that it would appear as if it infolded his sleeping form, and then he quietly awaited events.

It must be admitted that it looked like leaving Fred and Terry in great peril to permit such a savage enemy to creep so close to them while they were sound asleep; but Deerfoot knew that the first thing that the Wolf would do would be to attempt his life, precisely as he did attempt it. Before he could do any thing more, the Shawanoe concluded to impress his presence upon the visitor.

At the moment, therefore, that the Winnebago stopped his advance and slowly raised his knife, as he supposed over the breast of Deerfoot, that gentleman, kneeling on one knee, brought his rifle to bear upon the Winnebago, the dull light from the fire shining along the barrel, whose muzzle was within a yard of the unsuspicious Wolf.

The blanket through which the keen-pointed knife had been driven was no more firmly transfixed for the moment than was the Wolf when a slight hissing noise caused him to turn his head, and he saw the dreaded Shawanoe in a kneeling position with his gun leveled at him, the finger on the trigger, and the bright eye glancing along the barrel.

The Winnebago was literally unable to move or speak, and Deerfoot, motionless himself, held him thus for several seconds. Then with the gun still pointed, he said in a low voice:

"Dog of a Winnebago! Deerfoot has spared the life of the Wolf, and he now seeks to strike him in the dark."

This address loosened the tongue of the terrified warrior, who, seeing his captor raise his head from sighting along the barrel, though he kept the weapon leveled, obeyed the beckoning motion of Deerfoot, and crept noiselessly out of the cavern. On the alert for any chance, he was ready to seize it, but the first object on which his eye rested in the dim moonlight was the figure of the young Shawanoe holding his gun in such a position, that, should it be necessary, he could fire like a flash.

Deerfoot would not have hesitated to lay his gun aside, and, drawing his knife, give the Winnebago the same chance with himself; but the Wolf had left his weapon where he forced it through the blanket into the ground, so that he had none except his tomahawk, and he was not likely to attempt any thing with that.

Besides, while Deerfoot had not the least fear of his enemy, he did not wish to fight with him. He did not engage in his many desperate encounters through love of victory, but because it had seemed to him that it was his duty, and there was no other way out of the trouble.

It must be said, too, that at this hour the Shawanoe happened to be in a mood which rendered such encounters more than usually distasteful to him. After he had closed his Bible and lay on his face, looking into the embers and meditating, the same thought that had stirred him many a time before filled his mind again.

Why do men strive to kill each other?

It was a question which has puzzled many a wise man in the past and has not yet been answered. Thousands of affectionate husbands unlock the white arms of the loving little children from their necks, kiss the heartbroken wife good-by, and then rush out to try to murder one whom they have never seen, who has also just torn himself loose from his family. There is something in the thought that mystifies beyond all explanation.

The problem which directly interested Deerfoot was whether the day would not come when the red men of every tribe could meet the pale faces in friendship instead of hatred. Why should they always be at war? Could he do a little to bring about that day of universal peace? Was there not some work which the Great Spirit had laid out for him by which he could help to soften the feeling of the two peoples toward each other?

But Deerfoot had asked himself the same question many a time before, and the only answer was that the most he could do was to follow the light within him: that is, aid to remove a part of the antagonism between the two races.

Alas, too, that while he was considering the question, his ear caught the soft rustle that told him one of his own race was seeking his life. Deerfoot was sorrowed more than angered. He wished that the Winnebago had taken some other time to make his stealthy attack.

Joined to this emotion was that of another akin to sympathy for the Winnebago in his complete discomfiture. He had come back to regain his rifle, but not only had failed, but had lost his knife, and now was standing at the mercy of a Shawanoe young enough to be his son. The latter resolved that, though the Wolf had earned death, he would not harm him, unless forced to do so in self-defense.

For half a minute the warriors, with ten feet separating them, looked straight at each other in silence. Fred Linden and Terry Clark slept soundly, for as yet there had been no noise sufficient to awake a light sleeper.

"Why does the Wolf seek the life of Deerfoot?" asked the latter, willing to relieve the embarrassment of the other.

"The Wolf sought the gun that had been stolen from him."

"But it was not hidden in the blanket, that he should drive his knife through it."

"The Wolf believed it was," was the curt response.

"Does the Wolf strike with his knife at his own gun?" asked the Shawanoe, without betraying any emotion.

"He would rather do so than that it should stay in the hands of an enemy."

"It never would have been in the hands of an enemy had the Wolf acted as a brave warrior; but he sought the life of the young pale face who had never done him harm."

"Has not his people stolen the hunting grounds of the red man?" demanded the Winnebago, who, seeing that some grace was to be allowed him, burst into the argument that multitudes of his people have used before and since. Before he could proceed further, Deerfoot asked: "Are these the hunting grounds of the Winnebagos?"

"They are the hunting grounds of his race, though they may not be of his totem; Deerfoot should join with his brother the Wolf in driving the white men into the sea."

"There was a day when that might have been done," replied Deerfoot, who felt that faint throb and thrill which sometimes came to him, as if to tell him that his Indian nature was not yet entirely dead within him; "once the pale faces were but a handful, and the red men hunted over all the ground that lies between the great waters. They could have swept the pale faces into the sea, but they would not be brothers with themselves; they fought each other. So the pale faces grew, and the day will never come when they need fear the red men."

"The brave warrior does not ask what can be done, but does with all his might that which he knows the Great Spirit wishes him to do."

"The Great Spirit does not tell him to kill his pale face brother; for they are all His children and He loves them. The Great Spirit has spoken to Deerfoot and told him that all His children should love one another."

"Does Deerfoot do so?"

"He does; he never strikes but when the Great Spirit tells him to do so; if he was the Wolf and the Wolf was Deerfoot, he would have slain the Shawanoe long ago."

The Winnebago would have denied this had he not seen that it was idle to do so. What would he not have given at that moment could he have exchanged places with the handsome and triumphant young warrior?

"The true Great Spirit loves all His children, whether they be pale or red or of the color of night; He smiles when they meet each other as friends, and He will reward in the spirit land those who do His will on the earth. Let the Wolf bury the words of Deerfoot in his heart, for they are the words of truth, and if they are heeded he will be happy—Go!"

The amazed Winnebago doubted for a moment that he had heard the command aright; but the wave of the hand which accompanied it, and the fact that it was in perfect consonance with the words he had just heard, satisfied him there was no mistake about it.

"The Wolf thanks his brother for what he has done."

The heart of the Winnebago forced the words between his lips as he turned his face away and walked down the bank of the stream in the direction whence he came. He vanished the next instant in the darkness.

Deerfoot did not stir until every sound of the soft footsteps had died out. Then he lowered the hammer of his gun, bent his shoulders slightly forward, so as to walk freely, and entered the cavern where his friends were still sleeping.



CHAPTER XX.

ANOTHER NIGHT VISITOR.

Deerfoot the Shawanoe was convinced of one thing—the Wolf would trouble him no further that night. What he might do in the future must be left for the future to tell. Whether the few words that he had dropped should prove the good seed of which I have spoken, or whether they should be choked up by thorns, not even the Wolf himself could tell.

The young warrior showed his convictions by flinging some wood on the fire, so that its blaze filled the cavern, and preparing for sleep. He first sat down and pulled out the knife of the Wolf, whose blade took on an additional gleam from the cleansing it had received in being forced into the flinty earth. He examined it with no little curiosity, though it was similar to his own.

A glance, however, showed that it was an inch or two longer. It was straight and oval-shaped, the blade not quite two inches wide, with a handle that had been cut from a deer's horn and fitted with no slight skill. Whether it was the product of aboriginal ingenuity or was the work of some cutler of the Caucasian race could only be guessed, the matter really not being worth the trouble of guessing. Its two edges and the point were very sharp. Deerfoot having laid aside his gun, grasped the blade in his left hand and circled it through the air like a swordsman at play. He was so pleased with it that he decided to keep it. He would not throw away the one that had served him so well, but would present it to Fred Linden, while he retained the one with which he was sure he could do better work.

It was singular that while the Shawanoe was turning the weapon over in his hand, and examining it with so much interest, that the occasion for its immediate use should come, but so it was.

He was on the point of shoving it in behind his belt and lying down to sleep, when a movement of the bushes outside was heard. It was so distinct indeed that he knew it was not caused by a person.