To his astonishment a voice immediately answered, and he saw his brother advancing hurriedly toward him. But he carried no game; and no sooner had Bob set eyes upon the other's face than he realized that Sandy brought news of some sort, for he looked excited. "What is it,--Indians?" asked the older boy, involuntarily half raising his musket, and casting an apprehensive glance around at the frowning and mysterious forest by which they were almost entirely surrounded. But Sandy shook his head in the negative, much to the relief of his brother. "Then have you found a bear's den, or perhaps a wolf's whelps?" he went on. "You would never guess it in a week, Bob," declared Sandy, with a smile; "but come with me. I am sure you can do him good, with your knowledge of surgery, which is going to make you a wonderful man some fine day." "Surgery! What have you found, Sandy? Is there any one wounded near here?" Sandy nodded his head. "Yes, and pretty badly hurt, I fear." "Not a white man, surely?" went on the other, falling into step with the impatient one. "It is an Indian," replied Sandy, soberly. "Perhaps one of those who were wounded in the fight. He may have come thus far on his way to his village, and given out," and now it was Bob who urged the pace, for his professional instinct had been aroused. True, it was only an Indian who was injured, and in those days the settlers on the frontiers had a very low estimation of the red man as a human being. But then Bob was a boy, and his love for relieving pain amounted almost to a mania with him. Many a time had he set the broken limb of some little wild animal, across which he had accidentally come in the forest; and his operations had always been very successful; so much so that both father and mother were proud of him. Sandy had apparently taken particular notice of the place where he had found the injured Indian, for he seemed to experience no trouble in leading the way back there. "Here he is," he suddenly remarked, as he swept aside a screen of pawpaws. Bob looked down upon a painted face, and felt a pair of glittering black eyes fastened intently upon him. "Why, he is a young fellow, hardly more than a boy," he remarked in some surprise; but his words must have been understood by the wounded one, for he tried to draw his slender figure up in pride. "Me brave--me Blue Jacket!" he said, almost fiercely, smiting himself several times on the chest. The peculiar name caused Bob to notice for the first time that the young Indian was indeed wearing a hunting shirt fancifully decked with the quills of the blue-jay, and from which he doubtless took his name, although in the Indian tongue it would probably be of an altogether unpronounceable nature.