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rred the burning wood so that it threw out more light, and then, reclining on his left elbow, so that the illumination came directly in his face (the worst direction possible), he drew from beneath his hunting-shirt the small Bible, that had been presented to him by the Preston family, and began reading it. Fred Linden, who had his eyes fixed upon him, was so interested that his drowsiness departed. Without moving he watched him closely. He saw him turning the leaves back and forth, as if looking for some place he had in mind. It took him but a minute to find it, when, still leaning on his elbow, and with the light striking his face and the printed page, he seemed to become so absorbed as to lose all consciousness of his surroundings. Fred Linden, without betraying that he was awake, surveyed this remarkable performance with an admiration that for the moment made his eyes misty with emotion. The eyes of Deerfoot were downcast, as he read the page, so that they could not be seen but the handsome oval face; the luxuriant black hair, with the eagle feathers thrust into the crown; the rows of gleaming beads around the neck; the deerskin shirt that covered the breast and arms to the wrists, on the left one of which shone the golden bracelet; the red sash, behind which were shoved the knife and tomahawk; the brilliant fringes of the hunting-shirt and leggins; the small, ornamented moccasins; all these of themselves made a striking figure; but Fred, handsome and rugged himself, who was not accustomed to see any thing like beauty in the human form, was struck with the symmetry of the figure before him. He particularly noticed the tapering legs, and could not help saying to himself: "There is no Indian or white man that can run as fast as he." And the mental declaration of the lad was truth. The fleetness of the young warrior had never been equaled, and he had never yet met the person whom he could not outrun with ease and without putting forth his whole speed. "He don't look strong, but he is the last person that I would want to meet in a fight; I'll bet he is so quick that he could dodge the bullet fired at him." I must draw the line here: Deerfoot could not do any thing of the kind. "And he is reading his Bible! I never in all my life saw an Indian who could read a word of print, or do more than sign his name with a cross or some figure like a bug: I wonder whether we couldn't hire him to teach school for us
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