When Mul-tal-la and his companion came down the Missouri in a canoe it was easy enough to transport themselves to the eastern bank. They obtained the boat in the country of Iowa Indians, and, leaving it on the eastern bank, never saw it again. As a good deal of the day remained the travelers ate their noon meal at one of the taverns, where the food was less inviting than the game secured by their own rifles, and then remounting, they headed across the country for a hamlet named La Charrette, about which they had made inquiries and learned that it was the last white settlement on the Missouri. It was too far to reach that day, but they expected to make it on the morrow if no check occurred. Even though they were so near St. Louis they found no lack of game, and the question of food gave them the least concern of any. The Blackfoot, however, had told his friend more than once that they were to reach sections where the matter would be found one of considerable difficulty. La Charrette proved to be a dilapidated hamlet of half a dozen log cabins, standing close to the river. The country was so open when they approached the wretched dwellings that our friends were riding in a bunch, with Zigzag a little to the rear. Several half-clothed children were seen playing in the mud near the water’s edge, but no one else for the moment was visible. Deerfoot had just remarked that he was so unfavorably impressed with the appearance of the little settlement that they would not stop, as had been his intention, when a man was seen to come out of the door of the nearest cabin. He carried a long rifle, was dressed in the costume of the hunters of Kentucky, and was as straight and erect as an Indian. He paused and looked down at the children, apparently unaware of the approach of the horsemen. Victor, who was riding at the elbow of Deerfoot, heard him utter an exclamation of astonishment. Turning his head, he saw the Shawanoe intently studying the man who had just come into view. The next moment Deerfoot made another exclamation, and, leaping from his horse, ran toward the other. The latter was quick to detect the sound of his footsteps, and turned to look at him. As he did so the boys gained a fair view of his face. He had a somewhat elongated countenance, was smoothly shaven, with a prominent nose, and seemed to be in middle life. It was evident that he recognized Deerfoot before the latter reached him. The man was seen to smile, stride forward and warmly grasp the hand of the dusky youth, while the two talked fast, though their words could not be overheard. “They seem to be old acquaintances,” said the wondering Victor. “I don’t see how that can be, for Deerfoot has never been in this part of the country.” “But the man may have been in ours. I never saw him before; have you?”