“What do you suppose Deerfoot once asked me?” said Jack Carleton, stopping short and staring in the face of his friend, who answered with native innocence,

“If you vasn’t ashamed mit yourself, ’cause you didn’t know more apout de woods?”

“He handed me some cold water in a cup which he made of oak leaves, and when I thanked him he smiled in that way of his which shows his beautiful teeth, and asked me whether I always thanked every body who handed me any thing like that, or who did me a favor; I told him that I would consider myself rude if I failed to do so.  Then smiling a little more, he came for me!  ‘Who gives you the sunlight?’ he asked; ’who makes the moon and stars to light your feet at night? who gave you your good mother, your health, your food and drink, your clothes, your life?  Do you thank Him when you lie down at night, and when you rise in the morning, and through the day?’

“I tell you, Otto,” continued Jack, “I stood dumb; he has reproved us both and made us feel thoughtful, but I never had any thing that went home like that.  I have thought of it a hundred times since then, and that night when I lay down I prayed harder than ever before, and something told me that my prayers went higher, and that He who never turns away His ear was pleased.  I didn’t say any thing to Deerfoot, but you know, young as we are, that in running back as far as our memories will carry us there are some words and little occurrences that stick by us forever.  It is so with that question which was asked me by an American Indian in the deep woods just as night was closing in about us; his questions will cling to me if I live a hundred years.”

“I nefer heard him speak just dot way,” said Otto, who was in as serious a mood as his companion, “but he said a good many dings to me and sometimes to both of us which I forgets nefer ­nefer ­nefer!  When he left me and the Injins was as cruel almost as fader and moder, I dinks a good deal apouts dem; when I was a layin’ by de fire and not knowin’ weder dey wouldn’t kill me, den I dinks apout dem again and prays hard; when I swallers de tobacco and feels as if I was dead, den I prays agin to Him and He makes me well and prings me owet all right; arter this I nefer forgets to prays to Him.”

There could be no misjudging the sincerity of Otto.  Jack heard nothing in his quaint accent which could cause him to smile.  In truth he was equally thoughtful.

“Most people are willing to call on God when they are in trouble or they think death is close,” was the truthful remark of the young Kentuckian, “but it seems to me He must despise a person who forgets all about Him when the danger goes by.  I think if I was ashamed to profess Him before others, He ought to be ashamed of me when I came to die and called out in my distress.”

The conversation continued in this vein, until both awoke to the fact that they were violating the orders of Deerfoot, by loitering on the road; they had allowed valuable time to pass unimproved ­that is according to one view, but in another sense it could not have been better used.

As if to make amends for their forgetfulness, it was agreed they should cease talking for the time, and break into a moderate trot, which both could maintain for half an hour or more without much fatigue.  Jack took the lead, and keeping the right direction, he struck the pace which resembled that of Deerfoot, though it was not so rapid nor could he maintain it for a tenth of the time the Shawanoe could run without becoming tired.

The wood as a general thing was favorable, though the occasional undergrowth cropping out of bowlders and rocks compelled some deviation and delayed their advance.  No water appeared until they had gone several miles.  Then it was that they found themselves alongside a stream of crystalline clearness.  It was not very broad nor swift, though quite deep.  Standing on one shore, the bottom could be distinctly seen clean to the other side.  The bed was mainly a reddish clay, and here and there a few pebbles and large stones, but there was no difficulty in following with the eye the beautiful concave until the deepest portion in the middle was reached, and with the same line of beauty it arose to the land beyond.

“Otto, let’s have a swim!” called out Jack Carleton, after admiring the stream for several minutes.

What youngster could withstand such temptation?  The afternoon was warm, and though rather early in the season, the water itself could not have been more inviting.  The only answer Otto Relstaub made was to begin disrobing as fast as he could.  Then it became a race between him and Jack as to who should be the first.  The Kentuckian was only a few seconds in advance, and both frolicked and disported themselves like a couple of urchins who know they are doing something which they should not do.

Deerfoot had ordered them to push on and not to rest until they reached the ridge many miles beyond, where he hoped to join them.  He would not be pleased if he should learn in what manner his wishes had been disregarded.

The boys dove and swam hither and thither, splashing each other and reveling in the very luxury of enjoyment.  It will be understood how a couple of persons so placed as were they found such a bath not only a luxury but a necessity.  Men who spend days and weeks in tramping through the woods, without a change of clothing, can not preserve the most presentable toilet, and the washing of clothing, which at other times was done by those at home, was looked after to a greater or less degree by him who was many miles away.

But, oh the other hand, the garments worn by woodmen were far different from the fashion of to-day.  They were tough and enduring, and the coarse texture next to the skin preserved its good appearance much longer than does the finer linen we wear.  Often Jack Carleton had washed his, and frolicked in the water or lolled on the bank until it was given time to dry in the sun.  He and Otto did not do so now, because their consciences would not permit them to linger long enough.  As any wading they might do would leave their footprints in plain sight on the bed of the stream, they tried to satisfy their sense of duty by placing their garments and weapons on a light raft, and swimming behind it while it floated down stream.  In this way they left no trace of whither they had gone, and a bloodhound would have been baffled in attempting pursuit.

The only mishap of this novel voyage was that while making it, the gun of Otto rolled off and went like a stone to the bottom, but the clearness of the current revealed where it lay, ten feet deep, and it was easy to dive and recover it.

When at last they emerged, a long distance below the point of entrance, a branch was bent and broken as Deerfoot had told them to do in case they crossed a river, and donning their garments, they turned the light raft adrift, and resumed their journey toward the ridge which still lay a long distance away.

By this time the sun was well down in the sky, and it was clear that if the elevation was to be reached before going into camp, several miles would have to be traveled by night, when the moon would give them scant light indeed; but both had done a good deal of that kind of traveling, and the prospect caused no uneasiness.  The sight of some game or any thing which could be utilized as food would have been most welcome to the hungry lads.

Lest it may strike my reader that both were showing a degree of recklessness inconsistent with their training and character, it should be said that they kept their ears open for sounds from the rear.  It was not considered possible for the Pawnees to press the pursuit with any vigor without the discharge of more than one firearm.  The instant such report reached the youths, such tardiness would end.

That report came just before the sun sank from sight.  Faint but distant as it floated to them from across the miles of wilderness, it told (like the sound of Otto’s gun when heard by Deerfoot) an important truth; the Pawnees were on the southern side of the further ridge, and were pushing the pursuit of the boys with a persistency that left no doubt of their earnestness.

“I dinks we petter goes fast,” said Otto, breaking into a trot, which Jack imitated in order to prevent himself from falling behind.  They kept it up until the gathering darkness forced them to moderate their pace.  A couple of miles still remained to be passed over, but their training rendered that an easy matter, and, but for the craving hunger, there would have been little choice between that and stopping short where they were.

The boys were relieved over one fact:  they had come upon no broad stream or river.  Indeed, they had seen but the one stream which proved such a means of enjoyment to them, and the configuration of the country rendered it unlikely that they would meet any thing of the kind, until after passing the ridge where they expected to go into camp.

Another source of relief was the certainty that their long swim down the stream would be an obstacle to pursuit by their enemies.  They would be compelled to make search before the trail could be recovered, and that would take till the rising of the morrow’s sun.

And thus it was that, while hurrying on, they were shut in by darkness, and progress became difficult.  Even had the moon been at its full, the dense shadows under the trees would have rendered the sense of touch more useful than that of sight, but, as it was, they were making good progress when Jack, who still kept a slight lead, exclaimed in an undertone: 

“By gracious, Otto, there’s a light ahead!  What can it mean?”

“It means dot some wood ish burning, I dinks.”

Of one thing the boys were convinced ­whoever had kindled the camp-fire was not a Pawnee.  None of them could have reached such a position in advance of the fugitives, and the villages of the tribe were so far to the north-west that no other beside the main party were in the neighborhood.

“Deerfoot told us that we must not camp this side of that ridge,” added Jack, “so we’ll keep on until we find out who our neighbors are.”

This was an easy matter, since no effort had been made to hide the light of the fire, which was visible a long distance away.  As is the case at such, times, it appeared to be closer than it was, both the lads expressing disappointment that it seemed to recede, like the ignis fatuus, as they walked toward it.

But when at last our friends halted within a few rods, they were amazed to see but a single warrior in camp.  It required some maneuvering to make certain on the point, but the fact was not only demonstrated, but the equally astonishing truth was established that the warrior belonged to the Sauk nation.

Both lads were so familiar with that people that it was scarcely possible to err.  In spite of what Jack Carleton had said about the similarity in appearance of all Indian warriors, there were peculiarities of dress and looks which identified them.  More than that, the young Kentuckian recalled this one, whom he had seen during his own captivity among that people.  He was one of the wildest revelers at the feast described in “Campfire and Wigwam”, though generally he was reserved.  What drew Jack toward him was the recollection that no one in the village showed more consideration toward him than did he who sat on the blanket smoking his pipe and looking into the fire, as if in deep reverie.  He had interfered several times when the prisoner was threatened with violence, and was so consistent, indeed, in his chivalry, that when Jack had assured himself the Sank was alone, he walked forward with Otto at his heels, and offered his hand.

The red man showed no surprise, though he must have been astonished to meet the white youths so many miles from their own home.  He rose to his feet, without any appearance of haste, shook hands with both, muttering something which was doubtless meant as a welcome.  Jack managed to speak a few words in the Sauk language, but, for practical purposes, they might as well have remained unspoken.

But several facts were extracted from the Indian which added to the pleasure of the visitors.  The Sauk was alone, he had not seen any Indians for several days, and he had some meat left from that which he had rudely broiled for his own meal.  When I say he placed this at the disposal of the guests, it need not be added that in a short time there was none of it left.

The reason why the Sauk had fixed on that spot for his camp was that a tiny spring bubbled from under some rocks near at hand.  The bowl-like cavity, in which it collected before rippling away among the gnarled roots of the trees, held enough to afford all they could wish.  The added moisture of this spring, as is often the case, nourished a vigorous growth of succulent green grass, which was also turned to good account.

Just as the boys finished eating, they were startled by the whinney and stamp of a horse near them.  They looked inquiringly at the Sauk, who smiled and nodded in a fashion which showed that the animal belonged to him.  Instead of traveling the long distance on foot, as did our friends, he had ridden a horse, which had been cropping the grass close at hand when the boys came up.  The latter’s reconnoissance of the camp before presenting themselves failed to show the presence of the animal.

Observing the interest of the boys, the Sauk picked up a brand from the camp-fire, swung it over his head until it was fanned into a vigorous flame, and then motioned them to follow him, while he showed his steed, of which he was very proud.

The horse snuffed and displayed some timidity when the flame was brought near him, but a few words from his master quieted him, and he stood still while the three walked around and admired his points.  The boys said nothing until they were through.  Then Jack, with the firelight lighting up his face, looked at Otto, who laughed and nodded his head.

The two had discovered the fact that the horse before them belonged to Otto Relstaub, and was the one for which the poor lad had hunted in vain so long and which, therefore, was the cause of all the misfortunes that had befallen him and Jack Carleton.