“That gives my brother two handkerchiefs. It is not right. Let Whirlwind put the first one back where it belongs.”
Without hesitation the animal obeyed.
“The gun leaning against the rock—the one nearest us—belongs to my brother Victor. He is lazy; therefore let Whirlwind bring it to him.”
The stallion walked the few steps necessary, turned his head sideways and, grasping the rifle of Victor near its stock in his teeth, brought it to the amazed youth.
“Now make him bring mine to me,” said George.
“No; he has done enough of that; get it for yourself. Now, Whirlwind, Deerfoot is pleased with you; come forward and kiss him.”
The horse walked up in front of the Shawanoe, thrust out his tongue and licked his cheek. His master kissed his nose, patted his neck and spoke endearingly to him. There could be no question that the wonderful animal was happy and proud in the affection of his master, who, in his way, was more remarkable than he, since he had taught him all this.
“Only one thing is lacking,” remarked Victor, after he and George had expressed their amazement; “you ought to teach him to talk.”
“Though he may not use words like men, yet he can make his meaning known to Deerfoot, and that is enough.”
“There isn’t any doubt about his knowing what you say. You ought to teach him to be more considerate of the feelings of Bug and Jack and Prince and Zigzag. He doesn’t seem to care anything for them.”