AGO.

While Fred Linden and Terry Clark lay in that part of the cavern where
the floor was of rock, the blanket of Deerfoot was spread on the earth.
Consequently when the Winnebago brought down his knife with such vicious
spitefulness, it went through the folds of the blanket and was buried to
the hilt in the ground underneath.

You know that, despite the marvelous quiet with which the Winnebago
approached the cavern, he was heard by Deerfoot, who, pausing only long
enough to make sure that an enemy was approaching, whisked outside.
There he stood in the impenetrable shadow under the trees, and saw the
Winnebago at the moment he emerged into the faint moonlight and stood
upright.

The first look confirmed his suspicion that it was the Winnebago, who
had come back to avenge himself for the affair of the preceding day.
Deerfoot smiled to himself, for there was a tinge of absurdity about the
whole business that was sure to become still more so.

The Shawanoe paused a few seconds before darting out of the cavern,
until he could arrange his blanket, so that it would appear as if it
infolded his sleeping form, and then he quietly awaited events.

It must be admitted that it looked like leaving Fred and Terry in great
peril to permit such a savage enemy to creep so close to them while they
were sound asleep; but Deerfoot knew that the first thing that the Wolf
would do would be to attempt his life, precisely as he did attempt it.
Before he could do any thing more, the Shawanoe concluded to impress his
presence upon the visitor.

At the moment, therefore, that the Winnebago stopped his advance and
slowly raised his knife, as he supposed over the breast of Deerfoot,
that gentleman, kneeling on one knee, brought his rifle to bear upon the
Winnebago, the dull light from the fire shining along the barrel, whose
muzzle was within a yard of the unsuspicious Wolf.

The blanket through which the keen-pointed knife had been driven was no
more firmly transfixed for the moment than was the Wolf when a slight
hissing noise caused him to turn his head, and he saw the dreaded
Shawanoe in a kneeling position with his gun leveled at him, the finger
on the trigger, and the bright eye glancing along the barrel.

The Winnebago was literally unable to move or speak, and Deerfoot,
motionless himself, held him thus for several seconds. Then with the gun
still pointed, he said in a low voice:

"Dog of a Winnebago! Deerfoot has spared the