“Thar, Shawanoe!” he exclaimed, facing about, “you’ve made me do what I never believed any man could, make Jack Halloway do. Now I’ve got to travel all the way to St. Louis without a swaller of the infarnal stuff. It’ll take two or three weeks, and I know it’ll be powerful tough, but _I’m going to do it_!” Deerfoot had risen to his feet and, in a voice tremulous with emotion, he said: “My brother has done well. He will never be sorry. The Great Spirit will make him strong, but my brother must pray to Him for himself.” “Pray!” repeated the trapper; “that’s goin’ to be ’bout all I’ll do atween here and St. Louis, and I won’t let up till the good Lord does what you say, and what I know He’ll be powerful glad to do for such a miserable scamp as me.” The next act of the trapper was as remarkable as the former one. He strode out to where he had sent the three horses, roused each and began reloading them and saddling and bridling his own. Suspecting his purpose, Deerfoot asked: “Will not my brother wait till morning?” “Not a minute longer than I have to. I’m afeard that mother of mine will die afore I can git to her and beg her to forgive and help me to be a half-decent man.” Instead of protesting, Deerfoot aided in reloading the animals. Neither spoke while this was going on. When it was finished and the massive trapper had swung again into his saddle, he reached his broad palm down to his new friend. “Good-bye, Shawanoe. May I ax you when you’re at your prayers to put in a word for me! I’ve an idee that the Lord will be more pleased to hear from you than me.” “Deerfoot will never forget to do as his brother asks, and he is sure that all will now be well with his brother.” “I’ll make a big wrastle for it. Good-bye!” He struck his heels against the side of his horse, who, though roused from rest, moved off, followed by the pack animals as if they were a couple of docile dogs. They soon disappeared in the moonlight, but Deerfoot stood for a long time gazing thoughtfully toward the point where he had last seen the man who had come so strangely into his life and then passed out again. “Something tells Deerfoot that his brother shall do well and they shall meet again.” The Shawanoe, as we shall learn in due time, was right in this belief. A soft rustling caused him to look round. The Blackfoot was standing at his side. “My brother is late in awaking Mul-tal-la,” he quietly said. “My brother did not need to be awakened, for he heard the words of the white man who has just gone.” “Yes; Mul-tal-la heard all that was said by him and Deerfoot. The Great Spirit is pleased with Deerfoot.” “Deerfoot prays that He will ever be pleased with him. He is striving to live so the Great Spirit will not frown upon him.” Forgetting in his ardor the somewhat formal manner of speaking, the Blackfoot earnestly said: “If you are not good, then there _never_ was a good man. Let my brother rest, for the Great Spirit will watch over him like a father.”