e studied his countenance, he would have
seen that he was watching Fred Linden. He had said that he carried a
message to him, and it was no more than natural that he should wish to
know something about him.

As for Fred himself he did not try to hide his profound interest in the
remarkable warrior who had appeared at such an opportune time, but of
whom he had never before heard a word. He knew that the settlers along
the frontier often found valuable allies in the friendly Indians, and he
concluded that this red man was one of those who, having been maltreated
by his own people or kindly used by the whites, had given his loyalty to
the latter; for in the brief narrative of Terry Clark, he had time only
to tell the leading facts about the rescue of himself. Just then,
therefore, the Irish lad knew more about Deerfoot than did the American.

But it takes only a little time for such a group to become acquainted
with each other. A general handshaking followed, and it happened more
than once that all three were talking at the same moment. Had any one
been able to translate the expression of Deerfoot's countenance, he
would have seen that he was pleased with both the lads whom he now met
for the first time. There was a rollicking good nature, a cheery courage
and ever bubbling hopefulness about Terry that were contagious, and like
so much sunshine that went with him wherever he went.

Fred Linden was of that manly mold and rugged appearance that he would
have drawn favorable attention wherever he might be.

Such a lad in these days would have been picked out as a born athlete,
one who was capable, with proper training, to become a first-class ball
player, oarsman or boxer. He was a swift runner, a strong leaper, an
expert rifle shot, and his rugged frame and rough, outdoor life gave
him an endurance that few men could surpass. He was as tall as Deerfoot,
with broad shoulders, muscular arms and legs, clear, keen eyes, a fine
chest and a symmetrical frame.

The clothes of the two boys, it is hardly necessary to say, were of
homespun, for a hundred years ago it would have been hard for them to
procure any other kind of goods. The short coat was somewhat like those
used to-day by bicyclists, reaching only a short distance below the
waist, where the girdle was fastened in front. The trowsers, of the same
material, reached to the knees, below which were the hunting leggins,
common along the border. Then came the warm, woolen st