Joseph rode quietly through the camp, searching eagerly for a familiar face. He did not arouse any particular comment as he came in with his two horses, for more than a thousand men were departing with General Whiteside at just that time and the young volunteer was overlooked in the crowd. Suddenly he spied Deerfoot, seated under a large tree smoking his long pipe. His back was toward Joseph, so that he approached close to the Indian without being seen.
“Deerfoot!” Joseph called, as he stopped his horses under the tree where the Pottowattomie was seated.
The Indian jumped to his feet as if he had been a jumping-jack. His pipe fell to the ground and broke into a thousand bits while he stared at Joseph with startled eyes. For once he forgot to mask his feelings.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Joseph in amazement.
“Me thought you dead,” said Deerfoot in an awestruck voice.
“Not at all. I’d just as lief be, though.”
Deerfoot stared and stared at his young friend as if he could not believe his eyes. Finally he apparently convinced himself that it was no apparition that he saw, and his gaze shifted to the horse Joseph rode. Once more he started perceptibly. “Where you get that pony?” he demanded.
“You not catch him when he ride that pony,” said the Indian decidedly.
“No,” said Joseph, “he caught me.” He proceeded to tell Deerfoot of his encounter on the prairie and how he had finally shot his pursuer. “You act as though you had seen this pony before, Deerfoot,” he added.
“Sure that The Swallow,” said Deerfoot quietly.
“The Swallow?” repeated Joseph. “How does it happen that you know his name and recognized him when you saw him?”
“Everyone know that pony,” replied Deerfoot.
“What!” exclaimed the young frontiersman. “The fastest horse in the country, you say? What do you mean?”
“He called The Swallow,” said Deerfoot. “He run as fast as swallow fly.”
“Whew!” whistled Joseph in amazement. “It looks as though I had found a pretty good horse, doesn’t it? Who owned him?”
“White Owl,” replied Deerfoot. “He one of Black Hawk young men.”
“Do you suppose it was White Owl I killed?”
“That so. He no let any other ride pony.”
“Well,” exclaimed Joseph bitterly, “I’m glad I killed him and got his horse. I’d give him back both if I could, if he’d only return what he took from me.”