The clothes of the two boys, it is hardly necessary to say, were of homespun, for a hundred years ago it would have been hard for them to procure any other kind of goods. The short coat was somewhat like those used to-day by bicyclists, reaching only a short distance below the waist, where the girdle was fastened in front. The trowsers, of the same material, reached to the knees, below which were the hunting leggins, common along the border. Then came the warm, woolen stockings and thick, heavy shoes, while the head was surmounted by a woolen cap, made by the deft fingers at home, and without any pattern. It was soft, and having no forepiece, sat on the head in whichever position it happened to be first placed. In this respect it resembled the valuable sealskins of the present day. The coats of the lads were open in front, and within were the pockets, which they used as required, the trowsers also being provided with a couple of these prime necessities. When the rattling conversation had gone on for several minutes, Terry ran a few steps and picked up the bell that the Indian had placed on the ground. The string which had held it about the neck of the animal was missing, having probably been cut by the knife of the impatient Wolf. "I'll take the same back home wid me and put it on Brindle if I iver maat her; I shouldn't be so 'stonished that I couldn't spake if I should find that the spalpeen had killed her." "No," said Fred, "she isn't harmed; I found her off yonder, cropping the buds and leaves, as innocently as though she hadn't done any thing wrong in leading us on this long chase. I started her toward home, and if she keeps up the gait she must be pretty near there by this time." This was good news to Terry, for the loss of the animal would have been serious to the family of Mr. MacClaskey, her owner. The Irish lad had hardly picked up the bell when Deerfoot pointed to the gun lying on the ground, where it had been left by the Wolf. "That belongs to my brother." The delighted Terry could hardly believe what was told him, and he stood looking doubtfully at Deerfoot, as if suspecting he had heard him amiss. "It was you who captured the gun, Deerfoot, and so, if it belongs to any one, ye are the spalpeen." The Shawanoe looked down at his own handsome weapon and shook his head. He had no need of any other weapon. Besides, this singular youth could not have conscientiously taken it. He did not feel justified in keeping it for his own use, no matter if in sore need of such a weapon; but, since the Winnebago had made his demonstration against Terry Clark, and was compelled to leave the gun behind, when he was permitted to go, it seemed proper that the prize should fall into the hands of the Irish lad.