The fourth missile was grasped in his right hand, and he drew it slowly back and sighted carefully at his brother. Victor was a fine thrower, and when the ball flashed from his hand it landed on the top of George's cap and burst into fragments. The sleeper was in the midst of a dream in which Zigzag played a leading part, and the youth's first impression was that he had received the full force of a kick on his crown.

Paying no further attention to him, Victor quickly let fly at Mul-tal-la, and the throw was as good as the first.

The disturbance, slight as it was, roused Deerfoot, who flung the blanket off his face and raised his head. He was just in time to receive the compact sphere between the eyes, and before he could dodge the second it landed on his ear, packed the passage full of snow and plastered the side of his face with the snowy particles.

"I meant those for you and here's another!" shouted Victor, who, having exhausted his ammunition, snatched up a handful of snow and began hastily molding a new missile.

"You needn't scramble and claw about! I've got you down and I'm going to pay you for beating me at wrestling, for tickling my nose, for stealing my clothes when I was swimming, and"——

The reason why the lad ceased his remarks so abruptly was because a snowball, fired as if from a cannon, crashed into his mouth that instant and half strangled him. Before he could pull himself together he knew his nose was flattened by another missile and Deerfoot was on the point of launching a third shot. This was more than Victor had bargained for, and, wheeling, he "ran for life," yelling at the top of his voice for George and Mul-tal-la to come to his help.

"Soak him, George! Give it to him, Mul-tal-la; don't you see he's killing me?"

Now, there was no reason why the two thus appealed to should heed the prayer, since each had suffered at the hands of the youth who was in extremity. Nevertheless, Mul-tal-la and George attacked Deerfoot, observing which, Victor was unprincipled enough to turn back and join the assailants. Thus the Shawanoe was forced to defend himself against three, every one of whom was a good thrower. Right bravely did the dusky youth do his work—never yielding an inch, but driving his missiles right and left, with the merciless accuracy and the power of an arrow from his bow, or a bullet from his rifle. So lightning-like were his throws that neither the man nor the boys were able to dodge them, unless they widened the space between themselves and their master. Deerfoot's last missile cracked like a pistol when the ball impinged against the side of Mul-tal-la's head, and the latter gave up the contest.

This left only the boys. The Shawanoe hastily fashioned a couple of balls, and with one in either hand started for the brothers, who called out, "Enough!" and flung their own ammunition to the ground in token of surrender. He looked from one to the other and said:

"Let us not stop; Deerfoot is beginning to like it."

"That's the trouble," replied George; "you like it too much; I don't want any more; maybe Victor does."

"I'll do my own talking," replied the latter; "didn't you see me throw down my snowball? What do you 'spose I did that for?"

"Didn't you throw it at Deerfoot?" asked the Shawanoe. "The shot came as near hitting him as some of those you threw."

"We'll take up the fight again some time," was the vague promise of Victor, panting from his exertion.

"Deerfoot hopes you will do so."

But the good-natured contest was never renewed. Not again could the lads expect to have such a golden opportunity, and their defeat was so decisive that they knew better than to repeat it.

The labor of the return grew heavier as they progressed, and the time came when it was so hard to make headway against the powerful current that the effort was given up. The last few miles became a real portage, though when our friends were descending the river the passage could not have been easier.

And so in due time the four reached the Nez Perce village, where they had left their horses and some of their property. Henceforth the journey to the Blackfoot country was to be made by land. The former task had proved one of the severest of their lives, and glad indeed were all when it was over.

CHAPTER II.

LOST, STRAYED OR STOLEN.

You have already learned something of the Nez Perces, who in our times have produced one of the greatest Indian leaders of the past century. He was Chief Joseph, who gave the United States regulars such a brilliant campaign as to excite their admiration. Perhaps you saw the aged chief on his visit to the East a short time since. He was chivalrous, high-minded and a loyal friend of the whites, and showed this when he handed his rifle to Colonel Miles and said: "From where the sun stands in yonder heavens, I fight the white man no more."

You will recall that the Nez Perces are large, fine-looking men, of dark complexion, and that the women have attractive features. A century ago they had a rough time of it. They were forced to work hard during the summer and autumn in gathering salmon and their winter supply of edible roots. In winter they hunted deer on snow shoes, and, as spring advanced, crossed the mountains to the headwaters of the Missouri to traffic in buffalo robes. You will see, therefore, that they were kept unusually busy, and red men have never shown a fondness for manual labor. But, beside this, they had numerous fights with enemies from the west, often losing some of their warriors and many of their horses.

At the time of the visit by our friends, Amokeat was principal chief of the Nez Perces. He and Mul-tal-la the Blackfoot were attached to each other, and the confidence of the latter in the dusky leader was complete. Had he not been so warm in his expressions of this faith in Amokeat, Deerfoot would never have left the stallion Whirlwind in his care while the explorers were pressing their way down the Columbia to tidewater.

As it was, the Shawanoe was troubled by misgivings from the hour he parted company with his matchless steed. As the distance between him and the Nez Perce village lessened, it was hard for the dusky youth to suppress his nervousness. He was reserved, speaking only now and then when necessary, and unconsciously hurrying his footsteps, until the brothers were ready to drop from exhaustion. Had the village been a mile farther off they would have been obliged to beg for rest.

The arrival of the party caused less excitement than would be supposed. The majority of the men and women were away, assisting in the harvesting of salmon, while fully a score of the ablest warriors were off somewhere in the mountains, either hunting or scouting, preparatory to some movement the Nez Perces as a tribe had in view. There were enough on hand, however, to give our friends due attention and to welcome them back.

The first inquiry of Deerfoot was as to the horses. To the south of the main village stretched an expanse of undergrowth, bushes, succulent grass and herbage, where the animals of the tribe were turned loose to roam at will when not needed by their owners. The Nez Perces, with gestures and the few words that were understood by Mul-tal-la, said the horses of their visitors would be found at the place described. It was not far off, and Deerfoot broke into a lope, his friends at his heels.

It required but a few minutes to reach the tract, which covered a number of acres. At different points glimpses were caught of horses cropping the grass and herbage. The first animal recognized was Zigzag, who was so near that the moment the party debouched into the space he raised his head, looked at them and gave a neigh of recognition. Then he resumed his grazing, as if he felt that he had done all the honors due from him.

"Yonder is Prince!" exclaimed Victor, running forward to greet his horse, while George Shelton began searching hither and yon for Jack. Mul-tal-la did not