“Victor is mighty good at _that_. You don’t know how fast _he_ can run, Deerfoot.” The Shawanoe looked inquiringly at George, who at that moment caught a warning grimace from his brother. Deerfoot saw the by-play and had his own suspicions, but kept them to himself. He was determined to learn the truth from Mul-tal-la, and he did so before the close of day. The halt had already extended beyond the time set by the Blackfoot, and the journey was now taken up and pushed till night. Mul-tal-la kept in the lead, with the Shawanoe next and the boys at the rear. When the afternoon drew to a close they were well through the narrow portion of the range and among the foothills on the farther side. Although the country was broken and rough in many places, the traveling was not difficult, and the party hoped to make good progress until at the end of a few days they would again enter a mountainous region. This would take a long time to traverse, and when it was passed they would be on the border of the Blackfoot country, though still a long way from the Pacific. That night Mul-tal-la and Deerfoot shared the watch between them, the boys resting undisturbed throughout the darkness. The weather remained clear, and at an early hour they were on the road again and pressing forward with vigor. The Blackfoot showed that peculiarity which comes to many in drawing near their destination; the closer he approached to home the greater became his haste. The following day the boys met a pleasant experience. At the noon halt, while Mul-tal-la and Deerfoot were sitting on a fallen tree and talking, with the horses browsing near, George and Victor wandered off to look for fruit. They had seen some of it earlier in the forenoon, but it was too unripe to be edible. After living so long on meat they felt a natural craving for lighter food. The Blackfoot told them they ought to find that for which they were hunting, for they were in a region where fruit was plentiful and the season was now far enough advanced for some of it to be ripe. George was the first to succeed in the hunt. A shout brought his brother to his side. George was busy among some bushes that were crimson with wild currants, and he was picking and eating them greedily. “Better not eat too many,” warned Victor, proceeding straightway to violate his own advice. “You know we are not used to this kind of stuff, and it may play the mischief with us.” “If I ate as much as _you_ I should expect to die,” was the rather ungracious response of George, who nevertheless heeded the counsel and began searching further for some other kind of fruit that had less acidity.