THE cold, dismal, drizzling rain lasted without cessation till night closed in. The horses were allowed to graze sufficiently to satisfy their hunger, but they shrank shivering under the lee of the rocks, where they were only partly protected. Every member of the party proved his sympathy by covering an animal with his blanket, an extra one being provided for Zigzag, so that after a time all became comfortable. The fire that was kept blazing on the stony floor under a projecting ledge warmed the four so well that they were able to get on quite well without additional covering. Mul-tal-la asked the privilege of going off on a hunt in the afternoon. His bow was at disadvantage in the wet, and he borrowed Deerfoot’s rifle, with which he had practiced enough to acquire a fair degree of skill. “What will my brother bring back?” asked the Shawanoe. “Whatever his brothers want,” replied the Blackfoot in good English. He looked first at Deerfoot for his request. “Let my brother bring a buffalo,” he replied, knowing very well that none was in the neighborhood. “Mul-tal-la would have to journey too far,” said the warrior, who had acquired from his friend the habit of speaking of himself in the third person; “but if Deerfoot wants it he will hunt till he finds a buffalo.” “Then let my brother bring _anything_,” added the Shawanoe significantly, as if he doubted the ability of his friend to shoot any kind of game. That was the impression, too, he meant to make. The Blackfoot turned to the boys. “I’m not particular,” remarked George, who was inclined to sympathize with the homely but good-natured fellow. “What would my brother like more than anything else?” persisted Mul-tal-la. “I think a meal of venison would taste good. What do _you_ say, Victor?” “Nothing can suit me better,” “My brothers shall eat deer’s meat when Mul-tal-la comes back”, was the confident comment of the hunter. Deerfoot looked alarmed. “Let not my brother wait till he shoots a deer,” he said. “Why shall he not wait?” “Because my brother may _never_ come back if he waits for that,” was the slurring explanation of the young Shawanoe. The Blackfoot grinned almost to his ears, displaying a set of teeth that rivaled those of the Shawanoe. No one could accept a joke better than this dusky wanderer from the Rocky Mountains.