"I knew the wicked Indians wouldn't hurt you," said little Susie, turning her pretty face up to that of her cousin.
"And how could you know that, little one?"
"'Cause Mary and I prayed to God, when we saw you coming across the clearing, to take care of you."
"Well, I prayed hard too," said Ned, "and then did the best I knew how, and I think God always takes care of those who do that: it isn't any use of praying unless you try to help yourselves."
This was orthodox, though the sentiment was not very original, and the little sisters subscribed to it as fully as though they had been taught it at their mother's knee.
Colonel Preston had delivered the letters to the parties to whom they belonged, and had read his own. He had looked out for the opportunity to use his gun, but saw none, and he now turned about and gave his whole attention to his "recruits."
"Where is Deerfoot?" was his first natural question.
"He was on the edge of the clearing, when we left, and I suppose he is there yet, unless the Wyandots have driven him out."
"It isn't likely he has been allowed to stay there long, for I notice that some of the shots come from that direction. How was it he befriended you as he did?"
"He is a great friend of mine, you know, Uncle."