"Well, younker, what is it?" said the hunter in a kindly manner, and lowering his voice, so that the others could not overhear them.
"I wanted to ask you whether you learned anything about Deerfoot, when you were out."
"Nothing partic'lar; I heard his name mentioned by that varmint that run against me, after I didn't fall into the well."
"How was it?"
Jo related the incident in which he was compared to the young Shawanoe.
"What do you think about it, Jo?"
"Well, of course none of us knows anything for sartin,—but it's my opinion—since you ax it—that Deerfoot has slid under for good."
"I am afraid so," said Ned Preston faintly. "Poor Deerfoot!"
CHAPTER XVII.
THE LONG CLEARING.
Deerfoot, the young Shawanoe, despite his extraordinary exertions and his own wonderful woodcraft, had fallen into the hands of the hostile Wyandots, and with a grim satire upon the skill which had given the youth his great fame, Waughtauk, chief of his enemies, had decreed that his life should be staked upon the result of a race with the fleetest runners of the tribe.