, where'd _you_ come from?"

He had caught sight of Deerfoot, advancing noiselessly toward him, and
the man was startled (though he strove to conceal it) by the fact that
the other was nearer to his rifle than was the owner.

The Indian saluted him in his courteous fashion, and with a view of
removing his fears, walked on until the relative position of him and the
man were changed, and the latter was nearer his gun.

Then he paused, retaining his standing position, and with a slight
smile, said:

"Deerfoot is glad that his brother is not ill."

Undoubtedly that brother was relieved to find in case of dispute he
could reach his gun before the dusky youth, but he could hardly believe
the warrior voluntarily gave up the enormous advantage thus held for a
moment or two. Throwing his shoulders back, he looked straight in the
eyes of Deerfoot, and then rising to his feet, extended his hand. As if
conscious of his superior height, he towered aloft and looked down on
the graceful youth who met his gaze with a confiding expression that
would have won the heart of any one.

The abundant beard hid the mouth of the white man, but the movement of
the cheeks, the gathering wrinkles under the eyes, and the gleam of his
white teeth through the black meshes, showed he was smiling. Instead of
saluting in the usual fashion, he brought his hand down with a flourish,
and grasping the palm of the youth pressed it with a vigor which made
him wince.

"So you're Deerfoot, are you? I mean the young Shawanoe that used to
hunt through Kentucky and Missouri."

The Indian nodded his head to signify that he was the individual whom
the other had in mind.

"I'm Burt Hawkins--you remember me?" asked he, still pumping the arm of
Deerfoot, who was compelled to admit he had never before heard the name,
nor could he remember ever having looked upon his face.

"Well, you have done so, whether you remember it or not: three years
ago, which, I reckon, was about the time you began tramping through the
woods for the benefit of the white man, I was on a scout with Kenton and
some of the boys, over in Kentucky. We got caught in a blinding snow
storm, and all came near going under with a rush. Things got so bad that
Kenton said we would have to give up, for, tough as he was, he was
weakening. The snow was driving so hard you couldn't see six feet in
front of you. Cold! Well, the wind was of that kind that it went right
through your bones as though it wa