“Where’s Deerfoot?” exclaimed Robert suddenly. “I haven’t seen him once since yesterday.”
“You don’t mean to say you don’t know where he is?” said Joseph in surprise.
“No. I’ve been so busy the last twenty-four hours that I never missed him. I just this minute noticed that he was gone.”
“Deerfoot is the proudest Indian in North America today, I guess,” laughed John Mason, who rode alongside his young friends.
“Why?” demanded Robert. “Tell me what all the mystery is about.”
“There’s no mystery at all,” replied Joseph. “This is what happened. Yesterday a Pottowattomie came into camp and reported that seventy-five warriors of his tribe were encamped at Sycamore Creek who wanted to join forces with us. They seemed to think that this was a fine chance to get revenge on their old enemies, the Sacs, and they were very anxious to get in the fight. Some men of our battalion were sent on ahead to tell them it was all right and Deerfoot of course went with them. You ought to have seen him. Why, he was almost enthusiastic.”
“You can’t tell me he showed it, though,” laughed Robert. “When are we going to meet these Pottowattomies?”
“That’s fine,” exclaimed Robert heartily. “I can just see Deerfoot riding at the head of seventy-five of his own people. He’ll be so puffed up that he probably won’t deign to speak to us.”
“Not as bad as that I think,” said Joseph laughingly. “They’ll be a great addition to our forces, though. They know the country better than any of our men and they are good fighters, too.”
“They are if they are anything like Deerfoot,” agreed Mason. “He is about the best I ever saw.”
All day long the army continued its march. A halt for dinner was made at noon and shortly afterward the advance was continued. No sign of the enemy was discovered and at night they went into camp on the old battle ground at Sycamore Creek. Shortly before, they had passed the ravine where Joseph had hidden from the Indians during the disastrous route after that fight. He also recognized the spot where he had had the encounter with the Indian and had captured The Swallow. A thrill ran up and down his spine at the remembrance of these events and he shuddered to think how easily the tide might have turned the other way and his life been forfeited as had Walt’s only a few days before.