“Will my brothers give Deerfoot a name for his horse?”
“Yes,” George hastened to answer; “call him Dewdrop.”
The Shawanoe shook his head. The inappropriateness of the name was apparent, even to the Blackfoot. Indeed, the proposer was in jest.
“I have it,” said Victor. “Make it Whirlwind.”
“My brother speaks with the words of wisdom,” replied the Shawanoe. “His name shall be Whirlwind, though it would not be bad if it were Thunderbolt, like the steed that was conquered many moons ago.”
CHAPTER XI
PHYSICIAN AND PATIENT.
THUS the noble black stallion was named. If ever a person felt proud of his prize it was Deerfoot, the Shawanoe. The wild horse had been literally cut out from the herd of which he was monarch and made captive by the dusky youth. The battle between the two was a fair one, and the Indian was the victor, and never was a more striking victory won.
Deerfoot, however, knew that his work was not yet done, though he had made fair progress with it. He must win the affection of the creature, or all that had been previously done would go for naught.
Since the Shawanoe never made use of a saddle, his blanket serving that purpose, and since also there was none at command, no suggestion was offered him in that respect. Victor Shelton, however, took upon himself to say: