rred the burning wood so that it threw out more light, and
then, reclining on his left elbow, so that the illumination came
directly in his face (the worst direction possible), he drew from
beneath his hunting-shirt the small Bible, that had been presented to
him by the Preston family, and began reading it.

Fred Linden, who had his eyes fixed upon him, was so interested that his
drowsiness departed. Without moving he watched him closely. He saw him
turning the leaves back and forth, as if looking for some place he had
in mind. It took him but a minute to find it, when, still leaning on his
elbow, and with the light striking his face and the printed page, he
seemed to become so absorbed as to lose all consciousness of his
surroundings.

Fred Linden, without betraying that he was awake, surveyed this
remarkable performance with an admiration that for the moment made his
eyes misty with emotion.

The eyes of Deerfoot were downcast, as he read the page, so that they
could not be seen but the handsome oval face; the luxuriant black hair,
with the eagle feathers thrust into the crown; the rows of gleaming
beads around the neck; the deerskin shirt that covered the breast and
arms to the wrists, on the left one of which shone the golden bracelet;
the red sash, behind which were shoved the knife and tomahawk; the
brilliant fringes of the hunting-shirt and leggins; the small,
ornamented moccasins; all these of themselves made a striking figure;
but Fred, handsome and rugged himself, who was not accustomed to see any
thing like beauty in the human form, was struck with the symmetry of the
figure before him. He particularly noticed the tapering legs, and could
not help saying to himself:

"There is no Indian or white man that can run as fast as he."

And the mental declaration of the lad was truth. The fleetness of the
young warrior had never been equaled, and he had never yet met the
person whom he could not outrun with ease and without putting forth his
whole speed.

"He don't look strong, but he is the last person that I would want to
meet in a fight; I'll bet he is so quick that he could dodge the bullet
fired at him."

I must draw the line here: Deerfoot could not do any thing of the kind.

"And he is reading his Bible! I never in all my life saw an Indian who
could read a word of print, or do more than sign his name with a cross
or some figure like a bug: I wonder whether we couldn't hire him to
teach school for us