It was manifest from the manner of Deerfoot that he was disappointed because he did not meet Jack Carleton. He cast but a single glance around the apartment, which showed him his young friend was not present; then, as he gently seated himself, he looked into the pale face of the widow and said:
"Deerfoot sees not his brother."
"No; Jack and Otto set out on a long hunt this morning. They may be back in a few days and perhaps not for a fortnight."
"Have they gone to look for the horse that was lost?"
"Yes," answered the lady, with a smile; "I am ashamed to say they have; but I ask your pardon; have you had supper? Will you not permit me to give you to eat?"
She was about to rise when Deerfoot, who was resting his bow on the floor, while he grasped the center as though it was a cane, motioned with his left hand for her to retain her seat.
"The mother of my friend is good and kind, but Deerfoot cannot eat."
He appeared to be on the point of saying something more, but restrained himself. The mother was quick to perceive it, and a pang of dread stirred her heart.
"What were you about to say?" she asked, in her abrupt fashion, suspending the knitting which she was in the very act of resuming.
Deerfoot was too truthful to deceive her outright; but it is fair to presume he did not say all that was in his thoughts.