He was seen to swing himself upon the back of his horse, whose ribs he kicked with his heels and ordered forward. The animal stepped with some hesitation into the water, snuffing and feeling his way. He had advanced only two or three paces when Deerfoot observed that he was followed by two other horses, each of which carried a large pack on his back. The distance was short, but it took some time for the three animals to ford the stream, which was no more than two or three feet deep, with a bottom of soft mud.
The moment the leader touched dry land the man slipped from the saddle and extended his hand.
“Why, you’re an Injin!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think that, but I’m powerful glad to see you.”
“And Deerfoot is glad to see his brother,” replied the smiling Shawanoe, returning the pressure of the other.
“Who are you?” asked the white man, peering closely into the countenance as dimly seen in the firelight.
“Deerfoot, and a Shawanoe by birth.”
“Shawanoe,” repeated the white man. “I don’t remember havin’ heerd tell of them varmints—that is of that tribe,” he corrected with a laugh; “no offence.”
“Their home is a good many miles from here, in Ohio.”
“Ah! that explains it. I’ve seed worse lookin’ redskins than you.”
“And plenty better ones,” said Deerfoot rather taken with the off-hand manner of the newcomer.