The horse bent his head forward, drawing in his nose slightly and making a graceful obeisance.
“This is George Shelton; my brother does not know much, but he means well.”
Whirlwind stepped slowly forward and then sank on one knee. It was the one that had been lame, but it was now as strong as ever.
“This is my brother Victor; he means well sometimes, but my brother must not be trusted too far.”
“I wonder that he pays us any attention after the character you have given us,” remarked Victor, who nevertheless bowed low to the salutation of the stallion.
Deerfoot now gave a striking demonstration of the intelligence of Whirlwind and of the training which he had received during the comparatively brief time that he and his master had been alone together. Not looking at him, the Shawanoe addressed Victor:
“Deerfoot would be glad if Whirlwind would stand up for him.”
That the stallion understood these words was proved by his instantly rising as nearly erect as possible on his hind feet.
“Now let him give my brother’s handkerchief to his brother.”
Whirlwind thrust his nose forward and began fumbling about the breast of Victor. In a moment he drew his handkerchief from an inside pocket, stepped across to the pleased and wondering George, and shoved it into his coat.