life of the Wolf, and he
now seeks to strike him in the dark."

This address loosened the tongue of the terrified warrior, who, seeing
his captor raise his head from sighting along the barrel, though he
kept the weapon leveled, obeyed the beckoning motion of Deerfoot, and
crept noiselessly out of the cavern. On the alert for any chance, he was
ready to seize it, but the first object on which his eye rested in the
dim moonlight was the figure of the young Shawanoe holding his gun in
such a position, that, should it be necessary, he could fire like a
flash.

Deerfoot would not have hesitated to lay his gun aside, and, drawing his
knife, give the Winnebago the same chance with himself; but the Wolf had
left his weapon where he forced it through the blanket into the ground,
so that he had none except his tomahawk, and he was not likely to
attempt any thing with that.

Besides, while Deerfoot had not the least fear of his enemy, he did not
wish to fight with him. He did not engage in his many desperate
encounters through love of victory, but because it had seemed to him
that it was his duty, and there was no other way out of the trouble.

It must be said, too, that at this hour the Shawanoe happened to be in a
mood which rendered such encounters more than usually distasteful to
him. After he had closed his Bible and lay on his face, looking into the
embers and meditating, the same thought that had stirred him many a time
before filled his mind again.

Why do men strive to kill each other?

It was a question which has puzzled many a wise man in the past and has
not yet been answered. Thousands of affectionate husbands unlock the
white arms of the loving little children from their necks, kiss the
heartbroken wife good-by, and then rush out to try to murder one whom
they have never seen, who has also just torn himself loose from his
family. There is something in the thought that mystifies beyond all
explanation.

The problem which directly interested Deerfoot was whether the day would
not come when the red men of every tribe could meet the pale faces in
friendship instead of hatred. Why should they always be at war? Could he
do a little to bring about that day of universal peace? Was there not
some work which the Great Spirit had laid out for him by which he could
help to soften the feeling of the two peoples toward each other?

But Deerfoot had asked himself the same question many a time before, and
the only answer w