e Indian youth, whom he had driven from his door when he asked
for shelter, and he knew he had been the companion of his boy on the
stirring journey from Kentucky to Louisiana. It mattered not that the
masterful woodcraft of the dusky friend had saved the life of Otto
Relstaub; all that the German remembered was that the valuable horse was
lost, and he blamed this Indian for it, as he censured Jack Carleton for
the same misfortune. The man, however, said nothing for a few minutes.

It was manifest from the manner of Deerfoot that he was disappointed
because he did not meet Jack Carleton. He cast but a single glance
around the apartment, which showed him his young friend was not present;
then, as he gently seated himself, he looked into the pale face of the
widow and said:

"Deerfoot sees not his brother."

"No; Jack and Otto set out on a long hunt this morning. They may be back
in a few days and perhaps not for a fortnight."

"Have they gone to look for the horse that was lost?"

"Yes," answered the lady, with a smile; "I am ashamed to say they have;
but I ask your pardon; have you had supper? Will you not permit me to
give you to eat?"

She was about to rise when Deerfoot, who was resting his bow on the
floor, while he grasped the center as though it was a cane, motioned
with his left hand for her to retain her seat.

"The mother of my friend is good and kind, but Deerfoot cannot eat."

He appeared to be on the point of saying something more, but restrained
himself. The mother was quick to perceive it, and a pang of dread
stirred her heart.

"What were you about to say?" she asked, in her abrupt fashion,
suspending the knitting which she was in the very act of resuming.

Deerfoot was too truthful to deceive her outright; but it is fair to
presume he did not say all that was in his thoughts.

"Deerfoot is sorry his brothers have gone to look for the horse."

"Why?" quickly asked the mother.

"They cannot find him."

"Vy don't they finds him?" asked Jacob Relstaub, banging his cane again
and glaring fiercely at the youth, as though ready to spring upon him.

Deerfoot looked calmly in the forbidding countenance, and asked, more
directly than was his custom:

"Are you the father of my brother, Otto?"

"Yaw; of course I ish. He is one pad poy, as you ish de wust Injin dot
effer vasn't."

Without the least visible excitement, and in the same deliberate
monotone, Deerfoot still looking him straight in th