“Unless there are a lot more people like Walt who think all Indians are bad. Most of these men do think that, too, I’m afraid. Perhaps if they saw Deerfoot roving around here they might lock him up or something. Someone is almost sure to insult him.”
“That’s true,” said Robert. “Suppose we go out and look for him. He may be in trouble and need help.”
They stepped outside the tent, and immediately their gaze fell upon a sight that not only allayed their fears but made them almost dance with delight. Deerfoot was approaching the tent, astride the back of one horse, while he was leading two others by their bridles. He rode beautifully and seemed almost a part of his mount as he cantered up to the place where the two brothers were standing.
“Where did you get the horses?” cried Joseph as Deerfoot pulled up his mount and came to a stop in front of the tent.
“Major Stillman,” said the Indian.
“He gave them to you?” exclaimed Robert.
“One for each,” replied Deerfoot.
“Say,” cried Robert excitedly, “that is what I call pretty fine! Where are the saddles though, Deerfoot?”
“No more saddles,” he answered. “Me lucky to get horses.”
“I should say so,” said Joseph. “What do you want of a saddle anyway? You might think you didn’t know how to ride a horse the way you talk. We have bridles and a blanket. Isn’t that enough?”