The Indian warrior was the picture of ferocity, as he crouched a few steps away, and, with his fingers griping the handle of his knife, slowly drew it from the skin sheath at his girdle. The end of his abstraction was the resolution to slay his captive then and there.

But, as the plucky youth faced the fierce red man and looked him in the eye, he saw another form rising to view in his field of vision. It was that of a warrior who slowly appeared behind the first, as if lifted upward from the ground, and peeped over his shoulder into the face of Jack Carleton. So perfect was the silence which marked the extraordinary manifestation, that it was like the shadow made by the firelight itself.

Just beyond and a little to one side of the second form, a third came to view, dimly revealed by the lesser firelight, but with a stillness of movement as absolute as that of the other. Had it been otherwise, the redskin would have discovered their approach.

The third Indian, indistinctly shown in the yellow glow, was recognized by Jack as the Sauk Hay-uta; the second was Deerfoot the Shawanoe. The latter smiled in his shadowy way, and shook one finger as a warning to his friend not to betray the presence of himself and companion.

Looking in the face of his foe, as though addressing him, the lad said:

"It's all right; the next time I wish you would not be so slow in getting here; if you'll keep still, I'll give this rascal a tussle that he don't expect."

The warrior must have thought it strange to be addressed in that fashion, and he must have noticed, too, the smile and flitting glances of his victim, but he could not have suspected the meaning of either, or he would have faced the other way.

With a partially suppressed shout, he stooped, as if gathering his muscles, and then, like a lion on the edge of a chasm, he made a terrific bound at the captive.

But he didn't reach him. A quick blow of the upraised arm sent his knife spinning in the darkness, and a dexterous flirt of Deerfoot's moccasin in front of the foot of the Indian, flung him headlong, after the manner of a beginner taking a header from his bicycle. His discomfiture was more complete than that of Lone Bear while pursuing the Shawanoe, for not only was he thrown forward with great violence, but (as was the case with Hay-uta, when he attacked Deerfoot), the knife was knocked from his grasp, by a blow so cleverly given that it seemed to have fractured his forearm.

Using mild language again, it might be said that the warrior was surprised. Whatever the cause of his overthrow, he could not mistake its meaning; it notified him that he ought to leave the spot without any tarrying. Fortunately, he had enough sense to do so. Despite the stinging pain in his arm, he scrambled to his feet, glanced over his shoulder, and seeing two strange Indians, darted off like a deer, vanishing among the trees with a suddenness which, it is safe to say, he never equaled before or afterward.

"What a good fellow you would be to figure in a story!" exclaimed the delighted Jack Carleton, wringing the hand of Deerfoot, and feeling as though he would like to fling his arms around his neck and embrace him.

The Shawanoe evidently was in good spirits, for his even white teeth showed between his lips, and his handsome black eyes sparkled in the firelight. He enjoyed the figure the Indian cut when charging upon his captive.

"My brother speaks words which Deerfoot does not know."

"What I mean to say is, that you have such a way of turning up when you're wanted very bad, that you're just the scamp to figure in a lot of story books; I wonder whether some simpleton won't undertake to use you that way. The only trouble will be that if he invents yarns about you, he'll make a fizzle of it, and, if he tells the truth, he will hardly be believed; but," added the youth, as if the mantle of prophecy had fallen on him, "it will depend a good deal on who it is that writes your life. Like enough it will be some fellow who won't be credited, no matter what he says—so he will be apt to pile it on."

Although Deerfoot possessed a good knowledge of the English language, he failed to understand his young friend, and awaited his explanation.

Meanwhile Hay-uta came forward and shook hands with Jack, muttering a word or two in broken English, expressive of his pleasure over his good fortune.

"What I meant to say," added the lad, turning again to Deerfoot, "is, that you've got such a habit of dropping down on your friends when they are in trouble, that some day it will be put in a book, just as your Bible is printed."

"Put Deerfoot in a book!" repeated the young Shawanoe, blushing like a school-girl; "he who will do that will be a fool!"

"Like enough," replied Jack, with a laugh; "but all the same, he will come along one of these days, long after you and I are dead."

"How will he know any thing of Deerfoot?" asked the young warrior, with a dismay as great as that of other parties since then who, contemplating such a calamity, have burned their private letters and papers; "if Deerfoot is dead, who shall tell him any thing about him?"

"Why, my dear fellow," laughed his young friend; "don't you know that Ned Preston, Wild Blossom Brown, and all the folks over in Kentucky who know you, will tell their friends and children what you have done; and here on this side the river it will be the same; till some time it will all be gathered together and put in a book that will be read by hundreds and thousands of people not born?"

Deerfoot showed by his expression that he did not fully understand the meaning of his young friend, or, if he did, he believed he was jesting. The idea of him ever figuring on the printed page could not be credited. He smiled and shook his head, as though he wished to talk of something else.

The young Shawanoe, as a matter of course, was the director of all the movements of the little party, and he now said that it was best to leave the spot and spend the night somewhere else. The Indian to whom they had given such a scare might steal back, when he judged the three were asleep and take revenge.

"He hasn't any gun," remarked Jack, who had picked up his own weapon which the other left behind him, "so he can't shoot us."

"He has a tomahawk and knife—them he would use, though he had a rifle as good as Hay-uta's."

"How was it, Deerfoot, that that Indian was roaming through the woods on this side of the river, without a gun?"

The Shawanoe shook his head to signify he did not know: it was, to say the least, a curious incident.

"I thought possibly he was a stranger to the war party across the river; he acted as though he was afraid they would see him."

"He is a Pawnee," observed Deerfoot, who had gained a view of him, "and is one of their best warriors."

"Why, then, should he act as he did? You must have some explanation even though you can't be sure."

"He was a passionate warrior; he may not have been right there," said Deerfoot, touching his finger to his forehead; "perhaps he was so evil the Great Spirit placed darkness where there was light."

"But when an Indian is unfortunate enough to be unbalanced in mind, the others become more kind to him than before; he would have no need to be afraid of them."

The Shawanoe reminded Jack that the stranger might hold the rest of his people in mortal fear, without having cause for doing so.

The Kentuckian was inclined to accept this explanation, and he told how curiously the other had acted from the beginning, and especially into what a reverie he sank while sitting near the fire.

But when Jack Carleton had convinced himself on this point, Deerfoot chose to express doubt. To him it seemed more probable that the Indian had had a quarrel with his tribe, or had committed some offense for which he was proscribed. It was not unlikely that one feature of his punishment was that he should go forth into the wilderness without firearms. When he sat by the camp-fire, he was doubtless meditating over the wrongs he had suffered, and when his passion flamed out, he sprang to his feet to kill the youth who had done him no wrong.

"I know one thing," said Jack, compressing his lips and shaking his head, "I wouldn't have stood still and allowed him to work his pleasure with his knife; I almost wish you had let him come on."

The Shawanoe gravely dissented.

"My brother is brave, but he could not prevail against the fierce Pawnee; he might have saved his own life, but his wounds would have hurt; now he has no wounds."

"May be you're right, Deerfoot; you know more about the woods in one minute than I'll ever know in a lifetime; so I'll drop the subject."

Jack asked his friend about the experience of himself and Hay-uta on the other side the stream, and Deerfoot gave a summary of what had befallen them. When he recalled the overthrow of Lone Bear the first time, and afterward of him and Red Wolf, he laughed with a heartiness which brought a smile to the faces of Jack and Hay-uta. The sight of Red Wolf as he plunged into the river, his head down and feet pointed toward the sky seemed to delight the young warrior, who shook with silent laughter.

The Shawanoe never displayed his woodcraft in a more marked degree than at the moment he was telling his story and enjoying the picture he drew. While he seemed to be lost in mirth, Jack Carleton noticed, what he had seen before, his eyes flitted hither and thither, and occasionally behind him, and, between his words and laughter, he listened with an intentness that would have noted the falling of a leaf. Subtle would that foe have had to be in order to steal up to those who seemed to be thinking of every thing except personal danger.

Jack Carleton had learned that neither of his friends had gained any tidings of Otto Relstaub. At the fount where the Shawanoe expected to receive knowledge, he was shut out as though by an iron door. Not a word, hint or look had given them so much as a glimmer of light.

It was certain, however, that Deerfoot held some theory of his own to explain this phase of the difficulty which confronted them, and no one could travel so close to truth as he; but when asked his opinion, he would not give it. He shook his head to signify that he preferred to hold his peace on the matter, and Jack knew him too well to press him.

Hay-uta was impatient to leave the place, for it was manifest he did not like the spot. Nothing seemed more likely than that the warrior whom they had used so ill would do his utmost to revenge himself. It is as much a part of Indian nature to "get even" with an enemy, as it is the rule and guide of multitudes of those around us, who see nothing inconsistent between the spirit of the Christianity they profess and the revengeful disposition shown toward those who, in some way or other, have given them offense.