He struck his heels against the side of his horse, who, though roused from rest, moved off, followed by the pack animals as if they were a couple of docile dogs. They soon disappeared in the moonlight, but Deerfoot stood for a long time gazing thoughtfully toward the point where he had last seen the man who had come so strangely into his life and then passed out again.
“Something tells Deerfoot that his brother shall do well and they shall meet again.”
The Shawanoe, as we shall learn in due time, was right in this belief.
A soft rustling caused him to look round. The Blackfoot was standing at his side.
“My brother is late in awaking Mul-tal-la,” he quietly said.
“My brother did not need to be awakened, for he heard the words of the white man who has just gone.”
“Yes; Mul-tal-la heard all that was said by him and Deerfoot. The Great Spirit is pleased with Deerfoot.”
“Deerfoot prays that He will ever be pleased with him. He is striving to live so the Great Spirit will not frown upon him.”
Forgetting in his ardor the somewhat formal manner of speaking, the Blackfoot earnestly said:
“If you are not good, then there never was a good man. Let my brother rest, for the Great Spirit will watch over him like a father.”