IN fact, Mul-tal-la had made inquiries for his friend, and was told that he was absent on a hunt, and there was no saying when he would return. He was Amokeat, or the Man-who-never-Sleeps, and one of the leading chiefs of the Nez Perces.

Two years before, when a party of the latter were hunting on the Missouri, they were attacked by their enemies from the west, and all would have been cut off had not some Blackfeet hunters arrived at the critical moment. The tables were speedily turned and the assailants routed. During the fight Mul-tal-la saved the life of Amokeat, when he was hurled to the ground and a savage warrior was bending over to deliver the final stroke. Not only that, but Mul-tal-la scalped the enemy with his own hand and presented the trophy to the Nez Perce leader. No greater honor could be done by one warrior to another, and the gratitude of Amokeat was deep.

You will understand; therefore, how cordially this chief and the Blackfoot greeted each other. Mul-tal-la slipped off his horse and, as the grinning Victor said, seemed about to eat up the other, while Deerfoot looked on and was pleased with the effusive meeting.

Mul-tal-la and his people often mingled with the Nez Perces, and he understood their tongue well enough to make his meaning clear. He told Amokeat of the question he and the Shawanoe (to whom the Nez Perce was introduced) had been debating, and that they had about decided to make the rest of the journey on horseback. Amokeat instantly volunteered to take care of the animals until the owners returned. Mul-tal-la frankly told him that Deerfoot could not feel certain of finding Whirlwind when he came back. Amokeat reminded Mul-tal-la that he was a chief, and pledged his life to hand over the black stallion and the rest of the horses to the right parties.

“And he will do it,” added the Blackfoot, when he made known the pledge of the Nez Perce leader. “He is true and honest and loves Mul-tal-la too well to harm a friend of his.”

“Deerfoot does not doubt what his brother tells him; he does not doubt that Amokeat speaks with a single tongue, but” added the Shawanoe significantly, “there are other Indians who are not as true as Amokeat.”

“My brother is wise; he is always so; he must not forget that Amokeat is a chief and not a common warrior. He will do as he says.”

Deerfoot allowed himself to be persuaded, though no means convinced that he was doing a wise thing in leaving Whirlwind behind. He assented to the proposal, but his friends saw that he did so with misgiving.

The decision having been made, there was no unnecessary delay in carrying it out. From the scant supply of trinkets a number were presented to Amokeat, with the promise of more upon the return of the explorers, provided they found the horses awaiting them. The pleased chief secured a large canoe, capable of carrying the four persons and the indispensable portions of their luggage. The transfer was soon made, and the horses turned over to the care of the Nez Perce leader.

Mul-tal-la and the boys felt a little sentiment in parting for a time from their animals. There was something saddening in the thought that the quadrupeds, who had been their companions through so many hardships, trials and dangers, might never be met again. No person can fail to feel an attachment for the dumb creature that has served him faithfully. The brothers patted the necks of their beasts and expressed the hope of having them again as comrades on their journey back across the continent.

Deerfoot could be stoical if he chose, but he made little attempt to hide his feelings when the moment came for him to say good-bye to Whirlwind. He explained to him as well as he could the necessity of their parting company for awhile, and there is no saying to what extent he succeeded in conveying the truth to the noble creature.

“Whirlwind,” he said, as he gently stroked the silken nose and looked into the dark luminous eyes, “Deerfoot must leave you for a time, but he hopes soon to come back, and then you and he shall be comrades for the rest of their lives. If when Deerfoot asks for Whirlwind he sees him not, and they tell him he is gone, then Deerfoot will not go to his home beyond the Mississippi till he meets Whirlwind. He will hunt everywhere for him; he will find him if he is alive. If any harm has come to Whirlwind he who has harmed him shall give an account to Deerfoot!”

Victor was standing beside his brother and now spoke in a low voice:

“Those words mean a good deal, George. Deerfoot doesn’t feel easy over leaving Whirlwind behind. I believe trouble will come from it. I pity the Indian that tries to steal the stallion.”

“I believe he will be stolen. I don’t know why I believe it, but Deerfoot thinks the same, and I don’t understand why he consents.”

“Do you suspect Amokeat?”

“No; but even if he is chief he can’t help some of his people getting the best of him. Can you blame anyone for trying to steal such a horse?”

“I blame him, of course; but I don’t wonder at it. Look at Deerfoot and Whirlwind.”

Almost a hundred Nez Perce warriors, women and children were grouped about watching the departure of the visitors. Some whispered among themselves, but the majority silently looked upon the little group that was leaving them. The river lay a few rods away, and the goods had been placed in the large canoe, which was to bear the owners on their voyage to the ocean, still many miles to the westward.

When the young Shawanoe finished the words quoted Whirlwind laid his nose over his shoulder. Deerfoot placed his arms about the satin neck, fondled the forelock, patted the nose, kissed it, and then turned abruptly to his friends:

“Let us wait no longer. The sun is high in the sky and we have many miles before us.”

He led the way to the side of the rapid current, where the canoe with the luggage awaited them. George and Victor Shelton carefully seated themselves in the stern. Deerfoot, first laying his rifle in the bottom of the boat, stepped after it and caught up the long paddle, placing himself well to the front. Mul-tal-la sat just far enough back of him to allow the arms of both free play. Deerfoot rested the end of his paddle against the bank, gave a vigorous shove, the boat swung into the current, and the long, arduous voyage began.

The boys, who were watching their dusky friend, saw that he studiously avoided looking back, but kept his attention upon the management of the boat. He did this until they reached a bend in the stream, when apparently he could stand it no longer. Resting his paddle across the gunwales, while Mul-tal-la attended to the craft, Deerfoot turned his head and cast a long, lingering look behind him. George and Victor did the same.

The group of Nez Perces were still there, gazing after the canoe and its occupants. Amokeat could be recognized at the front, but in advance of him stood Whirlwind, with head high in air, his perfect outlines stamped as if with ink against the gaudy background of color, the slight wind blowing his luxuriant mane and tail aside, while he watched his master rapidly fading from view.

When he saw the face of Deerfoot he whinnied in recognition. The Shawanoe waved his hand, and those who looked at him observed the tears in his eyes. The next minute the bend in the river shut horse and master from sight of each other.

Facing down stream Deerfoot plied his paddle with a power that sent the boat swiftly with the current. He had taken less than a dozen strokes when he abruptly ceased and sat as motionless as a statue.

“Do you know what that means?” whispered Victor.

“I suppose it is because he feels bad.”

“No; he felt worse when he was paddling so hard. He is asking himself whether he ought not to turn back and bring Whirlwind with him. It won’t take much to make him change his mind.”

Victor was right. That was the question the Shawanoe was debating with himself, and more than once he was on the point of acting upon the impulse to undo what had just been done. Mul-tal-la suspected the truth. He believed the return would take place. So he also stopped paddling and waited for the word.

The cessation turned the question the other way. Deerfoot did not look around again, but dipped the paddle deep in the roiled current, making his sweeping strokes on one side and leaving to the Blackfoot to preserve the poise by doing the same on the other side of the boat.

It was fortunate, perhaps, that Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la were compelled to give attention to the management of the craft, for the river abounded with rapids, most of which were dangerous. Often a single false stroke would have sent the boat against the rocks which reared their heads in every part of the stream. Some protruded several feet above the surface, some only a few inches, while others were located by the peculiar eddying of the current as it whirled over and past them. These were the most to be feared, for they would rip out the bottom of the canoe like the sweep of a broadaxe. But you know the consummate skill of the young Shawanoe in handling a canoe. His quick eye, his unerring stroke, his great power, his instant decision and faultless judgment had been trained from early boyhood on the streams of the East, and, though he was now passing down a river he had never seen before, he read all its “signs” as you would read a printed page.

And the Blackfoot was hardly inferior, for he had passed through long and severe training, and he handled his paddle like an expert. Where both were so skilful they worked smoothly together. Sometimes the Blackfoot called out a warning to Deerfoot, but soon found it was unnecessary, for the youth was as quick, if not quicker than he, to detect the snags, rocks, eddies, bars and all manner of obstructions.

The shores were wooded and rocky at times, and now and then the explorers saw one or more Indians, who paused on the banks and surveyed them as they sped past. Generally one or both of the red men in the canoe saluted the others, and the same friendly spirit was shown by the strangers. George and Victor commented upon the experience which impressed them as singular, since it was so different from what they were accustomed to at home.

The explanation was the old one. These Indians knew too little about white civilization to fear the palefaces; that fear would come with greater knowledge. At intervals piles of planks were observed, these being the timber from which houses were built by the natives who came thither during the fishing season to catch salmon for the winter and for trading purposes.

Fuel was so scarce that it was often hard for our friends to find enough for a fire when they went ashore to camp for the night. Victor and George proposed to supply themselves from the piles that had been left by the fishermen, with the understanding that the owners should be repaid if they could be found; but Deerfoot would not permit it. He said they had no reason to believe they would ever meet the owners, and it was wrong to use their property without permission. So all had to shiver in their blankets and go to bed hungry.

Watchfulness generally prevented much suffering on account of this deprivation. Bits of driftwood were picked up at several points, so that at dusk the party had enough for cooking purposes, but on the fifth evening they found themselves without a stick of fuel, though encamped within a few rods of a pile of lumber. Deerfoot was inexorable, and all had settled themselves for the night when three Indians came down the bank for a social call. They had seen the canoe put into shore, but were timid at first, though they recognized two of the occupants as belonging to their race. One of the visitors had never seen a white man before. Their wondering scrutiny of the brothers made the latter laugh. Victor rolled up his sleeve to show the whiteness of the skin. The three grunted and seemed filled with amazement. He who met a Caucasian for the first time kept up a series of grunts, passed his hand gently over the faces of the lad, looked into his eyes, and then made Deerfoot, Mul-tal-la and George laugh by his attempts to pluck out the tiny, feathery hairs that were beginning to show on the boy’s upper lip, and which, if left to themselves, would in due time grow into an attractive mustache.

“A-o-uah! what are you trying to do?” called Victor, recoiling, the involuntary tears coming into his eyes because of the smarts made by the nails of the Indian’s thumb and forefinger.

“He never saw anything like that before,” said George. “I don’t wonder he is puzzled.”

“He wishes to shave my brother,” gravely explained Deerfoot. “When the hairs come on his own face he plucks them out. He would do the same with my brother.”

“I’ll do my own shaving when the time comes; let him understand that,” said Victor, showing his displeasure so plainly that the visitor gravely desisted.