The Red Man receives a Visitor, cogitates deeply, and acts with Decision.  
We return now, to the red man, who, with his captive, spent the greater part of that winter on the slopes of the Rocky mountains, in a valley between two spurs of the range which merged gradually into the prairie.
 
In this sequestered spot Petawanaquat could, by turning to the right hand, seek the rugged haunts of the grizzly near and the Rocky Mountain goat; or, by turning to the left, ride after the buffalo on his own undulating plains. Here the Indian instructed Tony in all the mysteries of the hunter’s craft, showed him how to set traps for wolves and foxes, and snares for rabbits, and taught him how to use the gun, and how to follow the tracks of game in the snow. He also made him a little bow, with a sheaf of blunt-headed arrows, and a pair of snow-shoe frames, the interstices of which were filled up by the red man’s wife.
 
Petawanaquat had only one wife, named Meekeye. He might have had half a dozen wives if he had chosen, because he was a strong, able, and successful hunter, which is equivalent to saying he was, for an Indian, a rich man, and among the Indians there is no legal limit, we believe, to the number of a man’s wives. But our red man seemed to think one quite enough. He was very good to her—which is more than can be said, alas! of many white men. He never failed to bring her the tit-bits of all animals slain in the chase. He never beat her if she grew weary on the march, as too many of his savage countrymen are wont to do, but, on the contrary, relieved her of part of her burden, and, as a rule, carried the heaviest part of the family baggage on his own shoulders or sledge. Moreover, when on a visit with his furs to the stores of the fur-traders, he never failed to consult Meekeye as to every purchase that he made, and invariably gladdened her heart with gifts of scarlet cloth and white enamelled beads, and brilliant ribbons and little circular mirrors, which were deemed ample in size, though hardly big enough to display to advantage the point of an average nose. In short, Petawanaquat was quite un-Indian and chivalrous in his attentions to his squaw, who repaid him with faithful service, and, above all, with loving looks from the orbs which had originated her name.
 
Some people may think the loving looks produced the chivalry; others that the chivalry caused the looks. Whichever way it was, the result was mutual felicity. The red man had no family, hence Meekeye took to Tony with something of the fervour of a mother. Tony soon reciprocated. At first he indulged some of his mischievous tendencies, but, being only smiled at when he was naughty, found that the interest of being bad was gone, and ere long gave it up.
 
In the presence of his new father he never dared to be other than absolute perfection. Petawanaquat’s solemnity was too much for him. Thus it came to pass that Tony was soon thoroughly broken in. Meekeye taught him to make leggings and to ornament moccasins, for the boy was omnivorous in his thirst for knowledge. He swallowed everything with avidity, including immense quantities of food, so that his frame and mind developed together in a marvellous manner.
 
Of course the red man did not take Tony with him on his longest hunting expeditions, but he took him considerable distances from home notwithstanding, and showed him the “far west” sport in all its phases, insomuch that Tony, who could scarcely sit a trotting horse in the settlements, became Tonyquat the Fearless in the course of time—could ride bare-backed steeds with ease, and could send his little arrows into the flank of a buffalo with as much coolness, if not as much force, as his instructor.
 
Tony even got the length of drawing first blood from a grizzly bear. It happened thus:—
 
He was out with Petawanaquat one day, in a narrow defile of the mountains. The Indian carried his gun; the boy his bow. Tony’s quiver contained two sorts of arrows, one set shod with iron, and sharp, the other set not only blunt, but with a lumpy wooden head, meant not to pierce but to stun birds.
 
“Ho, look here!” exclaimed Tony, fitting a blunt arrow to the string, and pointing up at a tree, among the branches of which sat a bird resembling a grey hen in size and colour.
 
Petawanaquat stopped, let the butt of his gun fall to the ground, rested his hands on the muzzle, and smiled approval.
 
The arrow flew, hit the bird on its astonished eye, and brought it down.
 
“Good! Tonyquat will be a great chief,” said the red man, with another grave nod.
 
“Ho, look there!” whispered Tony, glaring in the direction of a thicket while he fitted a sharp arrow to his bow.
 
Turning quickly, the Indian saw a grizzly bear rise from behind a rock and look at the hunters inquiringly. Before he could raise his gun he heard a twang, and next moment saw an arrow quivering in the bear’s neck. The roar of the enraged animal and the report of his own gun commingled. Another instant, and Tony found himself in the midst of the tree out of which he had just brought the grey bird, hurled there by Petawanaquat, who was himself not a moment too soon in climbing to the same place of refuge. From this point of vantage the Indian, having carried his gun up with him, fired several deadly shots, and killed the bear, whose claws Tony afterwards wore in commemoration of the event.
 
This was but one of the varied and stirring adventures which befell our little hero while under the care of his red-skinned captor.
 
What passed in the mind of the Indian during that winter Tony had little opportunity of knowing, for he was remarkably taciturn, though at night, when smoking the calumet over his wigwam fire, the thoughtful expression of his face, and occasional troubled look on his brows, suggested the idea that he was ill at ease. He frequently gazed at his captive as if about to speak to him seriously, but as often seemed to abandon the idea with something like a sigh.
 
One evening, however, Petawanaquat seemed more troubled than usual, and held frequent earnest consultations with Meekeye in an undertone, in the midst of which Tony could distinguish a few words, such as “tracks,” “white strangers,” “encampment,” etcetera. Before going to rest the Indian smoked an extra pipe, and then said—
 
“Tonyquat is a brave boy!”
 
“Yes,” answered Tony, with an air of gravity quite equal to that of his red father. The few months he had been in captivity had indeed wrought an almost miraculous change in the child. His ideas were much more manly. Even his speech had lost its childish lisp, and he had begun to express himself somewhat in the allegorical language of the American Indian. Under the influence of a will stronger than his own he had proved himself an apt scholar.
 
“Tonyquat is a boy who keeps his word?” continued the other, with a keen glance.
 
Tony turned his large eyes full on the Indian.
 
“Has my Indian father ever found Tonyquat telling lies?”
 
To this Petawanaquat said “Good,” and smoked his pipe with increasing vigour, while Tony sat with his hands clasped over one knee, gazing sternly at the fire, as though he were engaged in consulting on matters of life and death. He glanced, however, for one instant at Meekeye, to see that she observed his staid demeanour. The same glance revealed to Tony the fact that Meekeye’s right foot was rather near the fire, with the red-hot end of a log close to it. Tony’s own left foot chanced to rest on the other and unburnt end of the same log. A very gentle motion on his part sufficed to bring Meekeye’s toes and the fire into contact. She drew back with a sudden start, but was too much of an Indian to scream. Tony was enough of one to remain motionless and abstracted like a brown statue. The slightest possible twitch at one corner of Petawanaquat’s mouth showed that he had observed the movement, but his brow did not relax as he said—
 
“Tonyquat must make his red father a promise.............