OLD FRIENDS.
“IT can’t be,” gasped the mystified George; “you’re mistaken.”
“Come and see for yourself; where did you leave your clothes?”
“Over there on top of that boulder,” replied George, coming forward and
staring at the object named.
“Well, do you see them _now_?”
“Maybe the wind blew them off,” weakly suggested the other, although he
knew such a thing was impossible, for there had not been a breath of air
stirring for hours.
The two made careful search. Not a stitch of their garments was to be
seen.
“And the thieves have taken those we spread out to dry. Aren’t we in a
pretty fix? We’ll have to travel naked until we can kill a bear or two
and rob them of their hides.”
“Who was the thief?” was the superfluous query of George, staring here
and there in quest of the wretch who had done this “low down” thing.
“You don’t suppose it was Mul-tal-la?”
“No; how could it be? What would he want of our clothes? We saw him go
down the trail; I don’t believe he is within a mile of us.”
“Maybe Black Elk and his warriors have been following and waiting for a
chance of this kind.”
Victor shook his head. The thought was preposterous.
“He couldn’t have known there would be any such chance, and if he wanted
to do us harm he would have done it long ago. B-r-r-r-r! I’m cold!”
muttered the lad with a shiver.
The matter was becoming serious, for if their clothing was gone they
were in a woeful plight indeed. You will bear in mind that coats,
trousers, caps, stockings, shoes—everything had disappeared. The theft
included the underclothing that had been removed and cleansed by the
boys, as well as the extra suits taken from the pack carried by Zigzag.
Since these made up the only two undersuits owned by the brothers, you
will admit that their situation could not have been more cheerless.
A curious fact was that their guns had not been disturbed, though both
were left leaning against the boulder on which the clothing was laid,
and must therefore have been seen by the rogue.
“We’ll have to go into the water to get warm again,” said Victor, with
folded arms, bent form and rattling teeth. “I don’t see that we can do
anything but wait till Mul-tal-la comes back.”
“What can _he_ do?”
“If he can’t find our clothes he can go out and rob some bears or other
wild animals of theirs, and let us have ’em”——
George Shelton caught a flying glimpse of a tightly rolled bundle of
clothing which at that instant shot through the air and, striking Victor
in the back of the neck, sent him sprawling on his hands and knees.
George turned to see the point whence came the pack, and at the same
instant a similar one landed full in his face and knocked him backward.
But he had caught sight of Deerfoot, the Shawanoe, who rose from the
farther side of an adjoining boulder, and both heard his chuckle, for he
could not resist the temptation of having a little fun at the expense of
the brothers.
“We might have known it was _you_,” exclaimed Victor, clambering to his
feet and proceeding to untie the knots in his shirt and drawers, and
finding it no slight task.
“We won’t forget this,” added George, warningly; “you think you are very
smart, but we’ll catch you some time when you are not watching.”
Deerfoot was shaking with merriment, and as he came forward he said:
“My brothers need not wear bare-skins as they feared they would have to
do.”
(This is the only pun of which we have any record that was ever made by
Deerfoot.)
The shivering lads began donning their clothing, and then shook hands
with their friend. The meeting was a happy one. The Shawanoe was as glad
to see them as they were to meet him, whom they had missed more than
they had ever supposed could be possible. He told them he had nursed
Whirlwind until his lameness was gone, when he set out at a leisurely
pace to overtake his friends. On the way he fell in with Black Elk, the
Shoshone chief, and spent several hours in his company. Though it was
not easy for the two to understand each other, they managed to do so
through the universal sign language to the extent that the Shawanoe
learned that the chieftain had acted the part of a friend to the
Blackfoot and the boys when they were in danger from a roving band of
Cas-ta-ba-nas. So, knowing all was well, Deerfoot had not hurried to
overtake the party in advance.
“Where’s Whirlwind?” asked Victor, while hastily dressing himself.
“He is modest,” replied Deerfoot. “When my brothers are clad to receive
company he will come forward to greet them.”
“Seems to me you’re getting mighty particular, Deerfoot.”
It took the boys but a short time to dress, when, after hopping about
for a minute or two, to restore their numbed circulation, they became
comfortable. Being satisfied with an inspection, Deerfoot emitted a
sharp whistle. It was immediately answered by a neigh, and the next
moment the magnificent black stallion trotted into view around a bend in
the trail and approached the party. Proud as ever, he paid no attention
to the other horses, who raised their heads and saluted him as he came
in view.
Halting a few paces away, he looked at his master as if awaiting his
commands.
“Cannot Whirlwind bow to his friends?” gravely asked the Shawanoe;
“since they are not polite enough to salute him, let him teach them what
is right.”
The horse bent his head forward, drawing in his nose slightly and making
a graceful obeisance.
“This is George Shelton; my brother does not know much, but he means
well.”
Whirlwind stepped slowly forward and then sank on one knee. It was the
one that had been lame, but it was now as strong as ever.
“This is my brother Victor; he means well _sometimes_, but my brother
must not be trusted too far.”
“I wonder that he pays us any attention after the character you have
given us,” remarked Victor, who nevertheless bowed low to the salutation
of the stallion.
Deerfoot now gave a striking demonstration of the intelligence of
Whirlwind and of the training which he had received during the
comparatively brief time that he and his master had been alone together.
Not looking at him, the Shawanoe addressed Victor:
“Deerfoot would be glad if Whirlwind would stand up for him.”
That the stallion understood these words was proved by his instantly
rising as nearly erect as possible on his hind feet.
“Now let him give my brother’s handkerchief to his brother.”
Whirlwind thrust his nose forward and began fumbling about the breast of
Victor. In a moment he drew his handkerchief from an inside pocket,
stepped across to the pleased and wondering George, and shoved it into
his coat.
“That gives my brother two handkerchiefs. It is not right. Let Whirlwind
put the first one back where it belongs.”
Without hesitation the animal obeyed.
“The gun leaning against the rock—the one nearest us—belongs to my
brother Victor. He is lazy; therefore let Whirlwind bring it to him.”
The stallion walked the few steps necessary, turned his head sideways
and, grasping the rifle of Victor near its stock in his teeth, brought
it to the amazed youth.
“Now make him bring mine to me,” said George.
“No; he has done enough of that; get it for yourself. Now, Whirlwind,
Deerfoot is pleased with you; come forward and kiss him.”
The horse walked up in front of the Shawanoe, thrust out his tongue and
licked his cheek. His master kissed his nose, patted his neck and spoke
endearingly to him. There could be no question that the wonderful animal
was happy and proud in the affection of his master, who, in his way, was
more remarkable than he, since he had taught him all this.
“Only one thing is lacking,” remarked Victor, after he and George had
expressed their amazement; “you ought to teach him to talk.”
“Though he may not use words like men, yet he can make his meaning known
to Deerfoot, and that is enough.”
“There isn’t any doubt about his knowing what _you_ say. You ought to
teach him to be more considerate of the feelings of Bug and Jack and
Prince and Zigzag. He doesn’t seem to care anything for them.”
“Whirlwind has the right to treat those of his kind as he pleases. None
of them is his equal. Deerfoot is glad to see how careful he is of his
company. If he is willing to notice my brothers,” added the Shawanoe
with a smile, “isn’t _that_ enough?”
It was at this juncture that the stallion gave the most remarkable proof
of his intelligence that had yet been seen. It almost struck the boys
dumb with astonishment.
You remember that after washing their underclothing they spread them out
on the ground to dry in the sun. Deerfoot brought the garments from
where he had hid them and again spread them out. They had lain a
considerable time, and Victor was about to inspect them to see if the
moisture had evaporated, but Deerfoot checked him. Addressing the
stallion he said:
“Let Whirlwind examine the clothes lying on the ground; if they are dry,
he will hand them to my brothers; if they are wet, he will leave them
lie where they are.”
Victor’s first fear was that the brute was about to chew up his
garments, for he closed his teeth in a corner of his shirt, held it a
moment, sniffing at it, and then came over and laid it at the feet of
the youth. Of course he could not know that the article belonged to this
lad, for he had not been told.
He returned and in the same manner picked up the other garment belonging
to Victor and started to lay that also at his feet. After a single pace
he stopped, shook his head and flung the article back where it had been
lying.
“That isn’t quite dry enough,” said the wondering and laughing owner. “I
wonder how it is with your clothes, George.”
Precisely the same thing was repeated with the underclothing belonging
to George Shelton. One garment was dry, but the other retained a little
dampness, which, however, would soon disappear.
“Don’t ask him to do anything more,” said Victor; “I shall be scared. It
does seem that such animals should have souls.”
“Deerfoot is sure they have,” replied the Shawanoe with deep feeling.
Deerfoot now told Whirlwind to leave them for the time. He strolled off
to the more abundant growth of grass on the other side of the trail. The
three watched him amusedly, and noticed that he kept apart from the
other horses. He was a born aristocrat, and always would remain so.
Zigzag was munching and looked up at the stallion, as if he felt like
renewing the acquaintance that had not been of a very pleasing
character. He kept an eye on Whirlwind, and when he began cropping the
grass Zigzag had the temerity to try to join him. Before he reached the
stallion, however, he received too plain a hint to disregard. Whirlwind
deliberately faced the other way, thus placing his heels toward the
horse, so as to be ready for use when Zigzag came within reach. The
latter paused, looked reproachfully at Whirlwind, and then solemnly
walked back to his former companions. The snubbing was as emphatic as
the former and was sufficient.
A few minutes later Mul-tal-la came in sight and joined his friends. All
sat down on the boulders and exchanged experiences. Deerfoot had little
to tell that was of interest. He was not disturbed by the cloudburst,
and his occupation while absent from his friends had been, as he stated,
the looking after and training of Whirlwind. The animal recovered from
his lameness sooner than his master expected, and the latter could have
rejoined his companions sooner, but he spent hours in “getting
acquainted” with his prize and in training him to understand the words
spoken to him. It has already been told that some of the commands of
Deerfoot were uttered in a mixture of languages, or rather in no
language at all, the object being to throw difficulties in the way of
anyone who might possibly gain possession of the stallion for a time.
The Blackfoot gave it as his belief that they would have no further
trouble with people of his own race. They were approaching the Blackfoot
country, and, though some of the tribes through whose grounds they must
yet pass warred with one another, there was no hostility between any of
them and the Blackfeet, unless it had broken out during the absence of
Mul-tal-la, which was not likely.
While the friends were holding this familiar converse, the Blackfoot
thought the time had come to warn them against a danger they were likely
to be called upon to face, though it had not presented itself as yet. He
told them of a species of bear, sometimes seen farther north, which was
of such enormous size and ferocity that no single hunter dare fight him
alone. Mul-tal-la said that he and three of his people had had such a
fight, with disastrous results to the Blackfeet. Two of the latter had
guns, which, though of an antique pattern, were effective and would have
quickly killed an ordinary animal. The bear was shot repeatedly, but he
slew one of the warriors who had firearms and wounded another so badly
that he died a few weeks later. And in the end the bear got away,
apparently none the worse because of the bullets and arrows that were
driven into his body.
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