But, without dwelling upon these and other annoying incidents, we find our friends in the section named on this bright, sunshiny forenoon in early summer, riding at a leisurely gait toward the setting sun, for the time had not yet come to turn northward and make for the hunting grounds of the Blackfeet.
Deerfoot checked his horse on the crest of the moderate elevation, with one of the brothers on either side of him, and Mul-tal-la farther to the left. All carefully scanned the horizon and the grand sweep of prairie that inclosed them on every side.
“Do my brothers see anything more than the stretch of plain?” asked Deerfoot.
Naturally one of the first things done by George Shelton at such times was to bring his spyglass to his eye. It was a good instrument and proved of value to all. He had been thus engaged for several minutes when the Shawanoe asked his question.
“No,” was the reply. “There seems to be no end to waving grass and shining flower.”
“Let my brother look to the northward,” said Deerfoot, pointing in that direction, “and tell me what he sees.”
George did as directed. At first he saw nothing unusual, but as he peered he observed a change in the color of the landscape. Far off toward the horizon he noted, instead of the variegated hue, a dark sweep, as if the prairie ended on the shore of a dun-colored lake or sea. It covered thirty degrees of the circle. His first thought was that it was a large body of water, for as he studied it closer he perceived a restless pulsation of the surface, which suggested waves, though there was not a breath of wind where the company had halted.
“It looks to me like a big body of water,” said the boy, lowering his glass.
“Let me have a squint,” remarked Victor, reaching for the glass, which was passed to him.
Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la did not speak, but exchanged significant looks.