s a knife. Night was coming on, and we
were in the middle of the woods, twenty miles from everywhere. The only
thing we could do was to let out a yell once in a while, and fire off
our guns. I don't think there was one among the five that had the first
grain of hope. Kenton was leading and I was at his heels; all I could
see was his tall figure, covered from head to foot with snow, as he
plodded along with the grit he always showed.

"The first thing I knowed some one j'ined us--a young, likely looking
Injin, which his name was Deerfoot. He had heard our guns and dropped
down from somewhere. You're grinning, old chap, so I guess there ain't
much use of telling the rest, 'cause you know it. I'll never forget how
you led us into that cave, where you had fixed up the logs and bark so
that no snow flakes couldn't get in. There was a fire burning, and some
buffalo meat cooking, and we couldn't have been better fixed if we had
been lodged with Colonel Preston at Live Oaks or in St. Louis."

"Deerfoot has not forgotten," said the smiling Indian, seating himself
beside Hawkins on the log; "but my brother did not look then as he looks
now."

Again the head of the trapper was thrown back, his white teeth shone
through his immense whiskers, the wrinkles gathered at the corner of his
eyes, and his musical laugh rang out from the capillary depths. Burt was
proud of his beard, as he well might be. Few people in those days wore
such an ornament, and those who did so were sure to attract attention.

"You talk like a level-headed gentleman, Deerfoot, for all this (here he
stroked the glossy whiskers) has grown since then. I shouldn't wonder if
it _did_ change my looks somewhat. You're a blamed smart redskin,
Deerfoot," added Burt, who seemed to be in high spirits; "but I don't
believe you can beat it."

It was the turn of Deerfoot to laugh, and he did so with much
heartiness, though without any noise.

"No; the hair of Deerfoot grows on his head; he would be sad if it
covered his face."

"So would I, for it would make a confounded queer looking creatur' of
you. I would like to see an Injin got up in that style; just think of
Tecumseh with a big mustache and whiskers! Beavers!"

The conceit was equally enjoyed by Deerfoot, who fairly shook with
mirth. He recalled the time when he confronted the mighty chieftain,
with drawn knife and compressed lips, and the picture of that terrible
being, with his face covered by whiskers, was a