“White Owl,” replied Deerfoot. “He one of Black Hawk young men.”
“Do you suppose it was White Owl I killed?”
“That so. He no let any other ride pony.”
“Well,” exclaimed Joseph bitterly, “I’m glad I killed him and got his horse. I’d give him back both if I could, if he’d only return what he took from me.”
“What he take from you?” asked Deerfoot.
“I guess you know as well as I do,” cried Joseph, his voice choking with emotion. “If you’d seen the scalp he had, you’d know. If Robert isn’t dead, why isn’t he with you now?”
“Because he’s been down taking a swim in Rock River,” said a voice nearby, and turning around Joseph saw his brother standing not five feet distant from the spot where he and Deerfoot were talking. His teeth showed in a radiant smile, while his hair seemed redder than ever before.
“Bob!” exclaimed Joseph. “I thought you were dead.”
“Far from it,” laughed Robert. “I consider myself one of the liveliest people in camp.”
“But I saw your scalp,” protested Joseph.