found himself belated in the vicinity, and he once shot a wolf that
was resolved on entering against his protest. It was his intention to
make a call upon the hunters, and if they needed his aid, he was glad to
give it in the way of helping trap or shoot game. You need not be told
that though James Bowlby felt an innate dislike of the American race,
there was now one exception: henceforth he was the sworn friend of
Deerfoot the Shawanoe.

Linden and Hardin had got back from making their rounds, and were
wondering what could have delayed their friend, when they saw him
limping painfully on one foot, and supported by a fine looking young
Indian warrior. Their astonishment was great, for they could not
understand what it meant. Linden hastened to the help of Bowlby, but he
waved him aside and said no one could do as well as Deerfoot.

While Hardin went out to bring in the two beavers that had been taken
from the traps by Bowlby, the latter was assisted to a seat on the log
in front of the cabin. Then Deerfoot insisted on giving attention to the
injured limb. It had swollen a great deal since he bathed it. There was
nothing in the cabin in the way of ointment or liniment, but Deerfoot
hastened into the wood and soon came back with the leaves of some plant
whose virtues seemed to be well known to him. These were wrapped in a
piece of linen, which the establishment managed to afford, and pounded
to a pulp, and then the poultice was gently applied to the inflamed
ankle. Bowlby declared that it felt better at once, but his face
lengthened when Deerfoot told him that it would be a moon, or several
weeks, before he would fully recover the use of his limb.

"That will make us short-handed, and we need every one," said Mr.
Linden; "I wish Fred was here to give us help."

"I think I can ride my hoss to Greville," said Bowlby, "and bring him
back with me."

"That is hardly worth while."

"Where is the home of my brother?" gently asked Deerfoot.

"At the settlement of Greville, about a hundred miles to the north."

"Deerfoot knows where it is," he replied; "he will take a message for
his brother, for his footsteps lead him that way."

"You're a mighty clever Indian; I will be ever so much obliged to you,"
said Linden; "I will write a few lines to my boy, which will explain our
trouble, though I have no doubt you could take the message just as well;
but it is such an unexpected one that the boy might doubt it unless it
was in