Deerfoot on the Prairies

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

The air was crisp, for the spring was only fairly open, and the little company that gathered round the crackling blaze called their blankets into use. The animals were allowed to crop the grass near at hand, and to lie down when they chose. None was tethered, for they were not likely to wander off, and if they showed a disposition to do so the sentinel could easily prevent it.

The four lolled about the blaze after finishing their evening meal, talking mainly of the long journey and the experiences awaiting them. Mul-tal-la answered Deerfoot’s questions again, for though the Shawanoe was well informed, his inquiries were for the benefit of the boys, whose interest naturally was keen.

When the night was well advanced, Deerfoot, without any preliminary, drew his little Bible from his hunting shirt, and leaning forward so that the light fell upon the small print, read the Twenty-third Psalm, which, you remember, was one of his favorite chapters. His voice was low, musical and reverent, and no professional elocutionist could have given the sublime passage more impressively.

The three listened attentively, none speaking during the reading. It seemed to George and Victor that they had never felt the beauty and sweetness of the book whose utterances are sufficient for every condition of man and every state of the human mind. The surroundings, the great future which spread out so mysteriously before them, the certain dangers that impended, their utter helplessness and a sense of the all-protecting care of their Heavenly Father, filled their souls as never before.

It would be hard to fathom the imaginings and thoughts of the Blackfoot. He was sitting erect, with his blanket about his shoulders, only a few paces from the young Shawanoe, and kept his eyes upon the noble countenance as the precious words filled the stillness, the listener fearful that some syllable might escape him. He had learned much of the true God in his talks with the devout youth, and, like him, had fallen into the habit of praying morning and evening, and sometimes for a few moments in the busiest part of the day.

The brothers recalled that loved parent who had been lying in his grave for weeks, and remembered how he had prayed and how triumphantly he had passed away when the last solemn moment arrived, and both firmly resolved from that time forward so to live that there could be no question of the reunion that to both was the dearest, most joyous and thrilling hope that could possibly fill their hearts.

While the two sat beside each other, silent and listening, George gently reached out his hand. Victor saw the movement, and, taking the palm within his own, fervently pressed it. At the same moment the brothers looked into each other’s eyes. It was enough; volumes could have said no more.

Deerfoot finished, and, closing the book, returned it to its resting place over his heart. Then without a word he turned and knelt on the cool earth. Instinctively the three did the same and all prayed.

Not a word was heard, but heart spoke to heart, and all communed with Him whose ear is never closed against the petition of his children. Had either of the boys prayed aloud he would have stammered, for he could not have shaken off the question as to how his words impressed his companions. It is the impossibility in many cases of one freeing himself from this hindrance that makes the sentences of the petitioner halt and stumbling, because to a certain degree they are addressed to men rather than directly to the Father. The Blackfoot would have found it almost impossible to shape intelligently his sentences if he spoke aloud, but he could talk freely in his own way to his Maker. Deerfoot could have done far better than any of the others, for he would not have hesitated, but he preferred the silent petition, and rarely spoke his words unless he was asked to do so or a special necessity existed.

The others took their cue from him, and when they heard the gentle rustling which showed that he had resumed his sitting posture they did the same. Then he nodded to George, who, rifle in hand, walked softly out in the gloom to where the animals had lain down for the night, in the midst of the grass and near the rippling brook. As he did so he bade his friends good night, and they disposed of themselves in the usual way, each with his blanket wrapped about him and his feet turned toward the fire. Within ten minutes every one of the three was sunk in sweet, refreshing slumber.