The Hunters of the Ozark

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

The object to which he alluded was perhaps fifty yards distant, the light color of the bark showing only here and there among the branches and undergrowth that happened to be less frequent than in other directions. The Wolf signified that he recognized the tree to which his conqueror referred.

"Now let my brother run; when he reaches the beech he can leap behind it, and it will shield his body; if my brother is slow Deerfoot may fire his gun and Wolf will never bite again."

The Winnebago wanted no explanation of this threat. It was hard for him to depart, leaving his rifle, but it was harder for him to lose his life, and he did not hesitate as to the choice. He made one tremendous bound that carried him a dozen feet, and then sped through the wood like a frightened deer. When he had passed half of the intervening distance, he seemed to fancy that he was not making satisfactory time for the Shawanoe, who, he doubtless imagined, was standing with leveled gun, finger on the trigger. He therefore began leaping from side to side, so as to disconcert the aim of the dreaded Deerfoot. In the hope also of further confusing him, he emitted several frenzied whoops, which added such grotesqueness to the scene that Terry Clark threw back his head and made the woods ring with laughter.

"I never saw a frog hop about like that, which beats any show."

Deerfoot did not have his rifle cocked or in position. The moment the Wolf started, he saw how great his fright was, and, lowering the flint of the weapon, he rested the stock on the ground and watched the antics of the fugitive. The Shawanoe, unlike most of his race, had a vein of humor in his composition. When Terry broke into mirth, he too laughed, but it was simply a smile, accompanied by a sparkle of his bright eyes which showed how much he enjoyed the scene.

The moment the Wolf arrived at the beech, he darted behind it, and for the first time looked over his shoulder. The sight could not have been reassuring, for he continued his frenzied flight until the keen ear of the Shawanoe could no longer hear him threshing through the wood.

By this time Terry Clark had made up his mind that whoever the new arrival might be, he was a friend. The Irish lad had not been able to understand any of the words that passed between the two, though their actions were eloquent enough to render much explanation unnecessary. But a person who treated the Winnebago in such style could not feel otherwise than friendly toward the one in whose behalf the interference was made. Terry blushed a little as he walked forward and reached out his honest hand.

"If it's all the same to ye, I'll be glad to give that purty hand of yours an owld-fashioned shake, such as a fellow sometimes gits when he catches the chills an' faver."

Deerfoot looked at the jolly lad with an odd expression, as he gave him his hand, which, I need not say, was shaken with enthusiasm. The young Shawanoe smiled in his own shadowy way and returned the pressure warmly.

"My brother is happy," said he when the salute was finished; "it makes the heart of Deerfoot glad that he could be his friend."