Jan did not like the idea of going alone through the woods, and he followed close on the heels of Ben.
“Git away,” said Ben. “None of thet. I want ye to git used to takin’ car’ of yerself an’ ye must do it. I said scatter!”
Jan reluctantly went away and began to search. Ben glided from tree to tree, bending forward like a hound on the trail. He found at last a place where a moccasined foot had trod. The footmark was small and delicate.
“A gal or boy, by gracious!” said Ben. “Look sharp; I’ve found him.”
The others rushed to his side. The trapper stood at the root of a tree which in some way had been torn up by the roots, leaving a cavity below. Before this cavity Ben stooped and looked in. A single glance showed him an Indian boy, crouching in the darkest corner.
“Come out hyar,” he said.
The boy did not move, and Ben addressed him in the Indian tongue, telling him to come out and fear nothing. The lad obeyed, and stood before them, in his simple Indian garb, a blanket thrown over his buckskin shirt. His moccasined feet were small as a girl’s. For an Indian, he had a fine, bold face, and his black eyes gleamed with a half-scornful light.
“What do you want here?” said Ben, in the Blackfoot language.
“The sons of the Blackfeet go where they will,” said the boy, calmly, toying with the bow which he held in his hand. “Who dares question them in their own land?”
“The son of a chief stands before me,” said Ben. “I can see that at once. No one questions the son of a chief as to his right. But we are out upon the prairie and in danger. The brave youth can see that.”