he hardy men had lain down wrapped in their
blankets, and to sleep the sleep of health. Still further away, by the
side of some calmly flowing river or creek, were the ragged tepees of
the wild Indians. Mountain, forest and stream made up the landscape,
that was illuminated by the moon on the night when Fred Linden and Terry
Clark lay down in slumber by the fire in the cavern, and Deerfoot the
Shawanoe took upon himself the duty of acting as a sentinel over them.

It was not yet midnight when the figure of a crouching Indian emerged
like a shadow from the little gully which marked the course of the tiny
stream in front of the camp. Just at the point where he appeared, a few
rays of the moonlight found their way among the limbs, and added
impressiveness to his appearance. A glance would have told that he had
approached at the most stealthy gait of which he was capable, and was
still using all the skill at his command.

Finding himself within the faint light of the moon, he straightened up,
like one who is not certain of his surroundings and is using his eyes
and ears to their utmost. Standing erect in this manner he showed
himself to be a full-grown warrior in middle life, of strong limbs and
frame, and attired in the usual dress of his people.

The long, coarse hair dangled about the shoulders, some of the strands
having fallen forward in front of the chest, at the time his head drew
it over while in a crouching posture. It grew so low on his forehead
that no more than an inch was between the roots and shaggy eyebrows.
Beneath these the eyes glittered like those of a snake. The ugly
features were made more ugly by the different colored paints--most of it
black--that was daubed over them, and the countenance was distorted by a
swelling recently produced.

The breast and arms were covered by deerskin, a fringe running down in
front to the belt, which held his tomahawk. The frightful horn-handled
knife was tightly grasped in his right hand. Below the belt was
breechcloth, followed by leggins and moccasins, but it was noticeable
that he carried no rifle with him.

Perhaps you have guessed the reason; he had none to carry, for he was
the Wolf who had been deprived of his valuable weapon on the day before
by Deerfoot the Shawanoe.

As was learned in due time, the Winnebago, after being despoiled by
Deerfoot, had made all haste to rejoin his band, that were encamped at
no great distance from Greville. When he told his br