They beheld a man not only of six-foot height, but also uncommonly big of bone and evidently very powerful. He had brown, curly hair, rosy cheeks and a superb set of even, white teeth. His dress was all of deerskin, except that on his head was a raccoon skin cap, with the short tail hanging down behind. A knife was in his belt and he was plainly a man of resolute character, but he had a smile of such wonderful friendliness, and his tone of voice was so cordial, that the hearts of the two eastern lads warmed to him at once. “An’ what did you think o’ the Injun duel?” he continued. “Quite a fight,” acknowledged Ben. “And the right fellow came out on top,” added Tom, with evident satisfaction. “I kinda think so,” the frontiersman agreed. “From what I hear, that Prairie Wolf is a nasty one, ’bout the wust young ruffian in the hull Sac tribe.” “Do you suppose this duel will make bad blood between the Sacs and Pottawattomees?” questioned Ben. “It no doubt will, as they is pizen enemies to start with. The tribal lands o’ the two touch each other, an’ ther’s alus a ruckus goin’ on over who’s gittin’ on whose territory.” “Bright Star will have to watch his step,” Tom observed sagely. “The Wolf looks like the type who will plot his vengeance.” “I wouldn’t put it past him to knife the Pottawattomee in the back, some dark night,” Ben put in. “Well, jest ’member, lads, that ther wouldn’t be anythin’ wrong with that, ’cordin’ to Injun law. They believe strickly in an eye fer an eye, an’ a tooth fer a tooth. The white man’s code is beyond the understandin’ of a feathered savage.” “Do you think,--err--?” Tom began. “Oh, I’m beggin’ yer pardon,” broke in the frontiersman genially. “I’m Bill Brown, an’ I came ’rig’nally from Kentucky, but I’ve been a hunter an’ trapper an’ scout up this way fer the last ten years.” “Well, I’m Tom Gordon,” responded Tom, “and my brother’s name is Ben.” “Tom and Ben, h-m! Good short, honest names, an’ easy like to ’member.” “We’re glad you like them,” went on Tom smiling. “But as I started to ask, do you think there’ll ever be any trouble again, between the Injuns and the whites in these parts?” “You mean the fightin’ kind o’ trouble, I s’pose,” answered Bill Brown slowly. “Well, yer askin’ me a straight question, an’ I’m givin’ you a straight answer. I reckon ther’ll be more bloodshed betwixt the reds an’ whites, an’ mebbe soon.” “And maybe soon, you say, Mr. Brown?” exclaimed Ben, his eyes kindling with excitement. Bill Brown suddenly stopped and frowned. “What did you call me?” he asked. “Why, Mr. Brown, of course.” “Now listen, lad, I’m Mr. Brown only to them as don’t like me, an’ that I don’t like. But I was sorta figgerin’ that we was goin’ to be friends.” “We’ll surely be friends, Bill,” chorused the two boys, with one voice. “That’s good. That’s heap good, as an Injun would put it. But to git on with yer question. You’ve heard, small doubt, o’ the famous old redman, Black Hawk?”