While there was no lack of pasturage for the animals, the men and boys were not always so fortunate. At that time the country through which they were journeying abounded with elk, deer, antelopes, wild turkeys, grouse and beaver, and the streams were stocked with pike, bass, salmon-trout, catfish, buffalo fish, perch and other fish, including a species of shrimp, yet these were not always within reach. Some of the game mentioned were scarce in one section and plentiful in another, and, although they often showed themselves in the distance, were often shy and fled upon the first approach of a hunter. Instinctively they feared man, and the raids of the Indians taught them lessons that were not forgotten. When at noon a halt was made on the bank of a small, winding, sluggish stream that found its way into one of the branches of the Platte, the boys tried their luck at fishing. It need not be said that several hooks and lines were in their outfit. The couple were not rewarded with a single bite. Then Mul-tal-la took up the task with no better success. Finally Deerfoot was appealed to, for, as you know, the brothers believed he could do anything within the range of human possibility. He carefully baited his hook with angleworms and seized the occasion to remark: “Mul-tal-la and my brothers are small children. They are slow to learn. Let them watch Deerfoot and he will teach them how to bring fish from the water.” He whirled the line, weighted with a pebble, out to the middle of the creek, and was so confident of quickly drawing in some sort of fish that he did not squat down as the boys and Mul-tal-la had done. The three stood around and looked wishful, though had they not been so a-hungered they would have been glad to see the Shawanoe make the failure they had made. By and by the boys began to make remarks: “I like to see Deerfoot yank out the fish just as soon as he throws in his hook,” was the first observation of George, made within five minutes after the pebble had sunk from sight. “He’s waiting to catch two at a time. He knows how hungry we are, and I shouldn’t wonder if he feels that way himself,” added the grinning Victor. “Maybe some of the fish saw him throw out the line, and have gone off to bring up their friends, so as to give him a good show.” “Don’t catch too many, Deerfoot. We don’t need more than fifty or a hundred.” Mul-tal-la said nothing, but his teeth showed. He was enjoying the quiet fun. The Shawanoe acted as if he heard nothing. The line rested lightly in his fingers, which were so delicately poised that he was sure to feel the slightest tug or twitch, and he kept his eyes on the surface of the turbid stream. Suddenly he gave a jerk and rapidly hauled in the line, hand over hand. When the hook came creeping out of the current the bait was gone, and no fish was in sight. The brothers snickered.