This looked as if the uneasiness of the horse was over. A few minutes later Deerfoot again placed his ear against the ground. Immediately he was aware that that faint, tremulous throbbing which had so mystified him was passing away. Whatever had caused it was receding, and soon the silence became as profound as before. He was still at a loss to understand its nature, though he thought it was produced by animals treading the earth in immense numbers. Walking back to camp, he noted the three unconscious forms wrapped in their blankets, for there was enough sharpness in the air to make the warmth pleasant and little heat was given out by the fire. The Shawanoe paused just far enough away to be revealed dimly in the subdued glow, and was leaning on his rifle, listening, looking and meditating, when the stillness was broken by a single exclamation: “_Helloa!_” It was the voice of a white man on the other side of the stream which ran close to the camp. The face of the moon happened to be clear at that moment, and glancing across, Deerfoot saw a shadowy figure standing on the edge of the water. The head and front of a horse showed at his side, and he was evidently studying the camp upon which he had come. Deerfoot straightened up and promptly called back: “Helloa! Come over and see us.” As he spoke he walked down to the edge of the stream, as if to meet the stranger, who in a cheery voice replied: “That suits me. I was thinkin’ of doin’ that same thing,” He was seen to swing himself upon the back of his horse, whose ribs he kicked with his heels and ordered forward. The animal stepped with some hesitation into the water, snuffing and feeling his way. He had advanced only two or three paces when Deerfoot observed that he was followed by two other horses, each of which carried a large pack on his back. The distance was short, but it took some time for the three animals to ford the stream, which was no more than two or three feet deep, with a bottom of soft mud. The moment the leader touched dry land the man slipped from the saddle and extended his hand. “Why, you’re an Injin!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think that, but I’m powerful glad to see you.” “And Deerfoot is glad to see his brother,” replied the smiling Shawanoe, returning the pressure of the other. “Who are you?” asked the white man, peering closely into the countenance as dimly seen in the firelight. “Deerfoot, and a Shawanoe by birth.” “Shawanoe,” repeated the white man. “I don’t remember havin’ heerd tell of them varmints—that is of that _tribe_,” he corrected with a laugh; “no offence.” “Their home is a good many miles from here, in Ohio.” “Ah! that explains it. I’ve seed worse lookin’ redskins than you.” “And plenty better ones,” said Deerfoot rather taken with the off-hand manner of the newcomer. “Dunno ’bout that. There are a few good ones among the redskins and some powerful mean ones. I’m suited with you so fur, from the ground up.”