The Indian’s eyes grew moist at this remark and he turned quickly away. He washed Joseph’s cut and his own wound and then bound a strip of Joseph’s shirt around the cut in his head. He then scrambled up the side of the gully to gaze out over the prairie.
“What are we going to do now?” inquired Joseph a few moments later when Deerfoot had returned to the spot where the two boys were seated.
“We stay here today. Go on tonight,” replied Deerfoot.
“Isn’t it safe to travel in the daylight?”
“No,” answered Deerfoot. “Anyway, prairie too hot.”
“That’s true,” exclaimed Robert. “I never thought of that. The grass and bushes in the path of the fire must still be smouldering. We’d probably burn holes in our moccasins if we started now.”
“Mine can’t stand much either,” said Joseph, ruefully looking at his feet. “We’ve given them some hard usage lately.”
“I should say so.”
Deerfoot completed the task of cleaning Joseph’s gun, and then holding it under his arm he sauntered off along the bank of the stream. “Be back soon,” he called as he disappeared from view around a projecting corner of the bank. The two boys now left alone, sat on the ground and discussed their experiences and what was ahead of them.
“I wish we were at Dixon’s Ferry,” exclaimed Robert fervently.