Deerfoot kept up his caresses and gentle treatment of the prisoner. He strove to familiarize him with his voice and to win his confidence. He had proved he was master of the terrible brute, and the task was now to convince the brute that he was his friend. This was sure to be hard, and he could not hope to succeed for awhile to come.
They had traveled a few miles when once more Deerfoot slipped to the ground. As he landed he walked close to the shoulder of the horse and patted and addressed him as he would a child whom he loved. The stallion at first resented the familiarity. He shook his head as if displeased, edged away and finally snapped at the youth. The Shawanoe knew it would not do to let the animal forget who was master. So, when the black muzzle and gleaming teeth showed, he slapped his nose and spoke brusquely to him. This was followed by more caresses and soothing expressions. By and by the horse ceased showing resentment. Then Deerfoot remounted as before.
Thus the strange acquaintanceship progressed. It was impossible for the wild stallion to become tamed in a few hours, though we have professors in these times who conquer the most vicious beasts in less than a single hour, but sometimes the horses do not stay conquered. It can be said that the youth and horse became quite intimate as they journeyed together, and the youth had good reason to believe that ere long they would become friends.
As he had supposed, Mul-tal-la and the boys did not remain idle after the Shawanoe’s hurricane departure. Hardly had he vanished in the horizon when the three set out to follow him, pressing their animals hard. While it cannot be said that they were free from anxiety for their friend, they were not much alarmed. There could be no after-contest that would be fiercer than that which had taken place under their very eyes, and they had come to ask one another whether there was any situation in which the young Shawanoe would not be well able to take care of himself.
At every few paces George Shelton brought his glass into use and scanned the prairie in advance, not forgetting to bestow a glance now and then in other directions, for there was no saying what whim would control the black stallion.
“I see them!” suddenly called George. “They are coming this way!”
“Is Deerfoot on the horse?”
“Of course; you don’t suppose he would walk, do you?”
“I didn’t know but that the stallion was so tired Deerfoot would have to carry him,” was the innocent answer. “Let me have a squint.”
Victor and Mul-tal-la each descried the animal, but since he was in a direct line and held his head high it was some minutes before they could make sure that the Shawanoe was on his back. It was the Blackfoot who announced that he was riding the captured horse at a walk.