The party now turned towards the horses among the trees; which, after enjoying themselves by rolling in the grass, were feeding, apparently unconscious of their double misdemeanor, in having first upset the bac, and then nearly drowned their master by their struggles in the water. As Reginald and his two companions approached, an involuntary exclamation of admiration burst from him. “Heavens, Baptiste! did you ever see so magnificent a creature as that with the laryette round his neck? And what a colour! it seems between chestnut and black! Look at his short, wild head, his broad forehead, his bold eye, and that long silky mane falling below his shoulder! Look, also, at his short back and legs! Why, he has the beauty of a barb joined to the strength of an English hunter!” It may be well imagined that the greater portion of this might have been a soliloquy, as Baptiste understood but few, the Indian none, of the expressions which Reginald uttered with enthusiastic rapidity. Both, however, understood enough to know that he was admiring the animal, and both judged that his admiration was not misplaced. Our hero (for so we must denominate Reginald Brandon) approached to handle and caress the horse; but the latter, with erect ears and expanded nostrils, snorted an indignant refusal of these civilities and trotted off, tossing high his mane as if in defiance of man’s dominion. At this moment, the War–Eagle uttered a shrill, peculiar cry, when immediately the obedient horse came to his side, rubbing his head against his master’s shoulder, and courting those caresses which he had so lately and so scornfully refused from Reginald. While the docile and intelligent animal thus stood beside him, a sudden ray of light sparkled in the Indian’s eye, as with rapid utterance, not unmingled with gesticulation, he said, “The War–Eagle’s path was toward the evening sun; his tomahawk drank the Camanchee’s blood; the wild horse was swift, and strong, and fierce; the cunning man on the evening prairie said he was _Nekimi_[4],—‘the Great Spirit’s angry breath;’ but the War–Eagle’s neck–bullet struck—“ At this part of the narrative, the guide, carried away by the enthusiasm of the scene described, ejaculated, in the Delaware tongue, “That was bravely done!” For a moment the young Indian paused; and then, with increased rapidity and vehemence, told in his own language how he had captured and subdued the horse; which faithful creature, seemingly anxious to bear witness to the truth of his master’s tale, still sought and returned his caresses. The Indian, however, was not thereby deterred from the purpose which had already made his eye flash with pleasure. Taking the thong in his hand, and placing it in that of Reginald, he said, resuming the English tongue, “The War–Eagle gives Nekimi to his brother. The white warrior may hunt the mastoche[5], he may overtake his enemies, he may fly from the prairie–fire when the wind is strong: Nekimi never tires!”