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.”