Before noon it was known throughout the Blackfoot village that the remarkable young Shawanoe had arrived. The excitement was greater than that caused by the coming of Victor and George Shelton, and for a time Deerfoot was seriously annoyed, but he strove to bear it with the sensible philosophy of his nature. Those who saw him as he moved here and there with the boys, or Mul-tal-la, or Spink and Jiggers, had to admit the truth of the assertion heard many times; he was the most prepossessing young warrior upon whom any of them had ever looked. Neither among the Blackfeet nor any of their neighboring tribes had so comely a youth been seen. And this being the fact, many were more unwilling than before to believe he was so powerful, so active, so fleet of foot and so athletic as had been claimed. This doubt was not lessened by the conduct of Deerfoot himself. He soon became acquainted with nearly everyone in the village, and went upon hunting expeditions with them, but displayed no more skill than most of his companions. He avoided all trials of speed, though often invited to take part by the doubters. In crossing the river in a canoe with two of his new acquaintances, he swung a paddle, while each of them did the same. The Blackfeet saw no evidence of skill superior to theirs, because in truth none was displayed. He was urged to take part in their games, but made excuse to act only as spectator. He did not wish to become a competitor and deceive the others by not doing his best. His modesty led him to shrink from exhibiting his abilities. Moreover, he had a feeling that it savored of ingratitude or lack of appreciation of the hospitality he was receiving to place himself at the fore, as he knew he could readily do. But it had to come. Too many boasts had been made by the friends of Deerfoot for the envious Blackfeet to allow the Shawanoe to rest upon such laurels. Neither Mul-tal-la nor the brothers would abate one bit of their claims. Deerfoot would have stopped them had not the mischief, as he viewed it, been done before his coming. He could only remain mute and hope the matter would die out of itself. But that was impossible. The most noted test of athletic skill that ever occurred in the history of the Blackfeet tribe took place one bright, keen, sunshiny afternoon on the bleak plain at the rear of the village. A week had been spent in making the preparations as thorough as they could be made. Runners came from three of the other villages, and they were the flower of the tribe--lithe, sinewy, swift and splendid specimens of manly beauty, symmetry and grace. Each was worthy of being called a champion, and all were confident of lowering the colors of the dusky stranger from the land of the rising sun, who had been presumptuous enough to be persuaded to enter a trial that must disgrace him. More than one believed that in his chagrin the Shawanoe would hasten from the village and never more be seen in that part of the world.