early every person feels
for crawling reptiles. Nothing was so hideous to him as the _crotalus_,
and when he caught sight of one he rarely allowed it to escape. An
electric shock thrilled through him as he snatched back his hand in
time to avoid the sting, for the snake must have been as much
astonished as he by its disturbance. In the horror of the contact the
Shawanoe forgot everything else for the instant, and letting go his
hold, dropped to the bottom of the gorge.

He realized his mishap the instant it took place and tried desperately
to seize some obstruction that would check his descent, but could not
do so. He struck the bottom of the canyon, landing on both feet, with a
twinge of pain that was like a dagger thrust in his ankle.

But brief as was Deerfoot's descent, he had seen something terrifying
while it was going on. The rattlesnake so rudely disturbed as it lay in
coil (though it sometimes strikes when not in that position), darted
its gaping mouth at the hand which flashed out of its reach. Strange as
it may seem, it was lying on the very edge of the gorge, so close
indeed that the blow which struck vacancy carried it over, and it came
tumbling, looping and writhing after Deerfoot, at whose feet it fell,
bruised and stunned by the impact. Before it could strike again he had
seized his rifle and crushed out its life.

The excitement of the moment sustained him, but with the blow he sank
to the ground as if shot through the heart. His left ankle had been
severely wrenched and could not support an ounce of his weight. The
pain was so intense that but for his iron will he would have swooned.
With wonderful pluck and self-control he carefully raised himself and
stood on the right foot, with the other leg bent at the knee and its
foot held clear of the ground. A red-hot needle driven into and through
the ankle could not have caused more agony.

But though his face and compressed lips were pale, not a murmur of
complaint escaped him. Looking up at his steed he said, with his old,
winning smile:

"Will Whirlwind take care of Deerfoot, for he cannot take care of
himself?"

CHAPTER VIII.

ENEMIES AND FRIENDS.

The black stallion knew his master was in trouble. Stepping forward he
thrust forward his nose and licked his face. Deerfoot rested one arm on
his mane, the other hand holding his rifle. Then Whirlwind, without a
word, kneeled on one knee, so as to lower his shoulders. With a single
hop the