"Shawnee moccasins! Shawnee moccasins!" he muttered slowly, then brought his keen eyes to Norton's face. "Audubon said you were from New Orleans?" "Yes," returned the Louisianian, with curiosity again stirring in him. "You seemed to recognize those moccasins, sir--how shall I call you?" "Call me by my name--Red Hugh," said the other gruffly. "That is all the name I have held these twenty years, and it is good enough to die under. As to those moccasins, sir, you seem to have entertained an angel and a devil unawares." "Those two Indians?" demanded Norton eagerly. "Who were they, then?" "He with one eye is called the Prophet," puffed Red Hugh slowly. "The bitterest-hearted devil unhung! The other, his brother, is the finest man on the border to-day, the one redskin I am proud to call friend. He has sat here where you now lie, telling me of his dream; he has built a town on the Wabash, not far from Vincennes, where he hopes to gather all the Indian tribes in peace, teaching them to lay aside the rifle and till the soil. Neither he nor his followers touch liquor--sir, God will punish our race for the evils we have brought upon these Indians! The man of whom I speak is a Shawnee, humbly born yet recognized as chieftain by a dozen tribes. His name is Tecumthe, or as the border makes it, Tecumsey." The amazed Norton listened to this speech in blank astonishment. He had heard little of the two Indians in the South, and only on his Northern trip had he learned much of Tecumthe or his famous brother, the Prophet. Along the border they were hated bitterly, and that he had himself aided the two was no small surprise. Even more amazing, however, was the way in which Red Hugh spoke. From Boone, Norton had understood that the man hunted Indians, as more than one frontiersman did, like wild animals. "Tell me this," he asked, bewildered. "I thought you hated all redskins, Hugh? If that is true, what care you for the evil we have brought upon them, and why do you think so highly of Tecumthe?" The other puffed in silence for a moment, his face set like stone. "Look at that elk-hide yonder," he said, at length, gesturing with his pipe toward the stretched skin, his voice deeply stirred. "Norton, that skin bears record of a hundred and a score Indians I have slain. Twenty years ago a band of red devils murdered my whole family, my wife, my children, killed my dearest friend, left me for dead----" He paused, and after a space continued, his voice firmer.