al on who it is that writes your life.
Like enough it will be some fellow who won't be credited, no matter what
he says--so he will be apt to pile it on."

Although Deerfoot possessed a good knowledge of the English language, he
failed to understand his young friend, and awaited his explanation.

Meanwhile Hay-uta came forward and shook hands with Jack, muttering a
word or two in broken English, expressive of his pleasure over his good
fortune.

"What I meant to say," added the lad, turning again to Deerfoot, "is,
that you've got such a habit of dropping down on your friends when they
are in trouble, that some day it will be put in a book, just as your
Bible is printed."

"Put Deerfoot in a book!" repeated the young Shawanoe, blushing like a
school-girl; "he who will do that will be a fool!"

"Like enough," replied Jack, with a laugh; "but all the same, he will
come along one of these days, long after you and I are dead."

"How will he know any thing of Deerfoot?" asked the young warrior, with
a dismay as great as that of other parties since then who, contemplating
such a calamity, have burned their private letters and papers; "if
Deerfoot is dead, who shall tell him any thing about him?"

"Why, my dear fellow," laughed his young friend; "don't you know that
Ned Preston, Wild Blossom Brown, and all the folks over in Kentucky who
know you, will tell their friends and children what you have done; and
here on this side the river it will be the same; till some time it will
all be gathered together and put in a book that will be read by hundreds
and thousands of people not born?"

Deerfoot showed by his expression that he did not fully understand the
meaning of his young friend, or, if he did, he believed he was jesting.
The idea of him ever figuring on the printed page could not be credited.
He smiled and shook his head, as though he wished to talk of something
else.

The young Shawanoe, as a matter of course, was the director of all the
movements of the little party, and he now said that it was best to leave
the spot and spend the night somewhere else. The Indian to whom they had
given such a scare might steal back, when he judged the three were
asleep and take revenge.

"He hasn't any gun," remarked Jack, who had picked up his own weapon
which the other left behind him, "so he can't shoot us."

"He has a tomahawk and knife--them he would use, though he had a rifle
as good as Hay-uta's."

"How was it, Deerfo