ide to side, so
as to disconcert the aim of the dreaded Deerfoot. In the hope also of
further confusing him, he emitted several frenzied whoops, which added
such grotesqueness to the scene that Terry Clark threw back his head
and made the woods ring with laughter.

"I never saw a frog hop about like that, which beats any show."

Deerfoot did not have his rifle cocked or in position. The moment the
Wolf started, he saw how great his fright was, and, lowering the flint
of the weapon, he rested the stock on the ground and watched the antics
of the fugitive. The Shawanoe, unlike most of his race, had a vein of
humor in his composition. When Terry broke into mirth, he too laughed,
but it was simply a smile, accompanied by a sparkle of his bright eyes
which showed how much he enjoyed the scene.

The moment the Wolf arrived at the beech, he darted behind it, and for
the first time looked over his shoulder. The sight could not have been
reassuring, for he continued his frenzied flight until the keen ear of
the Shawanoe could no longer hear him threshing through the wood.

By this time Terry Clark had made up his mind that whoever the new
arrival might be, he was a friend. The Irish lad had not been able to
understand any of the words that passed between the two, though their
actions were eloquent enough to render much explanation unnecessary. But
a person who treated the Winnebago in such style could not feel
otherwise than friendly toward the one in whose behalf the interference
was made. Terry blushed a little as he walked forward and reached out
his honest hand.

"If it's all the same to ye, I'll be glad to give that purty hand of
yours an owld-fashioned shake, such as a fellow sometimes gits when he
catches the chills an' faver."

Deerfoot looked at the jolly lad with an odd expression, as he gave him
his hand, which, I need not say, was shaken with enthusiasm. The young
Shawanoe smiled in his own shadowy way and returned the pressure warmly.

"My brother is happy," said he when the salute was finished; "it makes
the heart of Deerfoot glad that he could be his friend."

"Ye were a friend indade, though ye'll admit, Deerfut, that I toppled
over the spalpeen in foine style, now didn't I?"

"The Wolf who is a Winnebago, fell as though the lightning struck him."

"How is it," asked Terry with no little curiosity, "that ye, who are as
full-blooded an Injin as the Winnebago, can talk the English with almost
as foine an