THE SMOKE OF A CAMPFIRE


Deerfoot identified the object before reaching it. His friends
followed him doubtingly, and while a rod to the rear, saw him gather
it up and hold it aloft.

"It is your blanket," said Jack Carleton to his companion.

"Dot ish what it be."

It was easy to understand why the piece of coarse cloth lay on the
ground. Instead of rolling it up with the smaller one belonging to
Jack Carleton, Otto had made a separate bundle and strapped it
behind the other effects on the back of the horse. The latter in
moving among the trees had displaced it.

It was saturated with water, which dripped from the folds when
raised from the ground. Jack and Otto twisted it between them until
all the moisture it was possible to wring out left it in a dozen
tiny rills. "Deerfoot," said the German, wheeling about, "dot ish
de blanket vot--vot I don't--vot I put on your shoulders ven it
rained."

The Shawanoe bowed his head, smiled and said:

"Deerfoot knows his brother speaks truth."

"I gives him to you--be ish yours."