as that the most he could do was to follow the light
within him: that is, aid to remove a part of the antagonism between the
two races.

Alas, too, that while he was considering the question, his ear caught
the soft rustle that told him one of his own race was seeking his life.
Deerfoot was sorrowed more than angered. He wished that the Winnebago
had taken some other time to make his stealthy attack.

Joined to this emotion was that of another akin to sympathy for the
Winnebago in his complete discomfiture. He had come back to regain his
rifle, but not only had failed, but had lost his knife, and now was
standing at the mercy of a Shawanoe young enough to be his son. The
latter resolved that, though the Wolf had earned death, he would not
harm him, unless forced to do so in self-defense.

For half a minute the warriors, with ten feet separating them, looked
straight at each other in silence. Fred Linden and Terry Clark slept
soundly, for as yet there had been no noise sufficient to awake a light
sleeper.

"Why does the Wolf seek the life of Deerfoot?" asked the latter, willing
to relieve the embarrassment of the other.

"The Wolf sought the gun that had been stolen from him."

"But it was not hidden in the blanket, that he should drive his knife
through it."

"The Wolf believed it was," was the curt response.

"Does the Wolf strike with his knife at his own gun?" asked the
Shawanoe, without betraying any emotion.

"He would rather do so than that it should stay in the hands of an
enemy."

"It never would have been in the hands of an enemy had the Wolf acted as
a brave warrior; but he sought the life of the young pale face who had
never done him harm."

"Has not his people stolen the hunting grounds of the red man?" demanded
the Winnebago, who, seeing that some grace was to be allowed him, burst
into the argument that multitudes of his people have used before and
since. Before he could proceed further, Deerfoot asked: "Are these the
hunting grounds of the Winnebagos?"

"They are the hunting grounds of his race, though they may not be of his
totem; Deerfoot should join with his brother the Wolf in driving the
white men into the sea."

"There was a day when that might have been done," replied Deerfoot, who
felt that faint throb and thrill which sometimes came to him, as if to
tell him that his Indian nature was not yet entirely dead within him;
"once the pale faces were but a handful, and the red men hunte