ALTHOUGH George and Victor Shelton parted for the time from Deerfoot with regret, it cannot be said that either felt any misgiving. There could be no doubt of the Shawanoe’s ability to track them all the way to the Pacific if necessary, for the trail would be plain except when they took to the water, which was not likely to be for a long time to come. Moreover, Mul-tal-la had said that little was to be feared from the Indians of the country through which they must make their way. Had the boys been alone danger might threaten, for most of the hunters and trappers who penetrated those vast solitudes looked upon and treated the red men as their enemies, and naturally were thus looked upon and treated in their turn. The Blackfoot and his companion met with no trouble of this nature on their eastward journey. They were always able to make clear their meaning by signs, and the fact that the two belonged to the same race with the different tribes was a sufficient passport. It seemed reasonable, therefore, to believe that the presence of Mul-tal-la gave all the protection that could be needed. The Blackfoot took Deerfoot’s place as leader, the brothers riding a little to the rear, with Zigzag plodding in his usual indifferent fashion. Just now the chief concern of the boys was as to how they were to obtain a meal, for the thought of going to sleep without food was intolerable. To the left, in the direction of the foothills, they descried a half-dozen elk browsing; but the game were as timid as antelopes, without their fatal defect of overwhelming curiosity, and they made off long before our friends could get within range. Several miles to the eastward a dark undulating mass which covered hundreds of acres showed where another vast herd of bison were moving southward. Victor was disposed to ask Mul-tal-la to change their course so as to get a shot at one of the animals, but his brother urged him to wait in the hope of a better chance to bring down something edible. An hour later this chance presented itself. Three graceful antelopes came in sight as the horsemen rode over an elevation. They were cropping the grass on the slope of a hill nearly a half-mile distant. George brought his glass to his eye and saw that the alert creatures had already caught sight of them. They were standing with heads erect and staring at the strangers, ready to dash off like the wind on the first demonstration or further move toward them. “There’s our supper!” exclaimed Victor, as the three halted, for the Blackfoot was also interested in the sight. “I know they aren’t the best food in the world, but I’m too hungry to be particular. Mul-tal-la, how are we to manage it?” “I will let my brother shoot one of them,” replied the Blackfoot, who, as you know, had caught Deerfoot’s manner of speech. “That suits me. George, you don’t mind. It will be your turn next time.”