AT HOME.

On the evening of a dismal, rainy day in spring, a mother and her son
were sitting in their log-cabin home in the southern portion of the
present State of Missouri. The settlement bore the name of Martinsville,
in honor of the leader of the little party of pioneers who had left
Kentucky some months before, and, crossing the Mississippi, located in
that portion of the vast territory known at that time as Louisiana.

There were precisely twenty cabins, all of which had been constructed
with a view to rugged strength, durability, and comfort. Lusty arms had
felled the trees, that were cut the proper length and dovetailed in the
usual manner at the corners, the crevices being filled with a species of
plaster, made almost entirely from yellow clay. The interiors were
generally divided into two apartments, with a broad fireplace and the
rude furniture of the border. Colonel Martin himself, with the
assistance of his two full-grown sons, erected a more pretentious
dwelling with two stories and a loft, but the other houses, as has
already been stated, were of such a simple and familiar character that
the American reader needs no further description.

Mrs. Carleton was a widow, whose husband had been slain by Indians in
Kentucky some time previous, and who, in the daily requirement of her
duties, and in her great love for her only child, Jack, found some
relief from the dreadful sorrow that overshadowed her life. Kind
neighbors had lent willing hands, and her home was as well made as any
in the settlement. Jack and his companion, Otto Relstaub, had arrived
only a couple of days before, and each had wrought so hard in his
respective household that they had scarcely found time to speak to or
see each other.

The evening meal had been eaten, the things cleared away, and wood
heaped upon the fire which filled the little room with cheerful
illumination. The mother was seated at one side, the silent
spinning-wheel just beyond, while her deft fingers were busy with her
knitting. Jack was half reclining on a rude bench opposite, recounting,
in his boyish fashion, the adventures of himself and Otto on their
memorable journey, which has been fully told in the "Lost Trail."

The good mother possessed an education beyond the ordinary, and, knowing
its great value, insisted upon her son improving his spare moments in
study. Jack was well informed for his years, for no one could have been
blessed with a better teacher, counselor, and friend, than he was. Even
now, when we reintroduce him to the reader, he held an old-fashioned
spelling-book in his hand. He had tried to give his attention to his
lesson, but, boy-like, his mind persisted in wandering, and his mother,
looking fondly across the fire, was so pleased to hear him chat and to
ask and answer questions, that she could not find it in her heart to
chide him.

"You have never seen Deerfoot, have you, mother?" he asked, abruptly
breaking in on his own narrative.

"Yes, I have seen him; he saved the life of your father."

"What!" exclaimed Jack, straightening up and staring at his parent in
open-mouthed amazement: "I never heard of that before."

"Didn't Deerfoot tell you?"

"He never hinted anything of the kind. He once asked me about father's
death and about you, but I thought it was only a natural interest he
felt on my account. But tell me how it was, mother."

"Some months before your father's death, he was absent a couple of days
on a hunt to the south of our home. He kindled a camp-fire in a deep
valley, where the undergrowth was so dense that he felt sure of being
safe against discovery. The night was very cold, and snow was flying in
the air. Besides that, he had eaten nothing all day, and was anxious to
broil a wild turkey he had shot just as it began to grow dark. He
started the fire, ate his supper, and was in the act of lying down for
the night, when a young Indian walked out from the woods, saying in the
best of English that he was his friend. Your father told me that he was
the most graceful and handsome youth he had ever looked upon----"

"That was Deerfoot!" exclaimed the delighted Jack.

"There can be no doubt of it, for he told your father that such was his
English name. I forget what his own people called him. Well, he said to
your father, in the most quiet manner, that a party of Shawanoes were
very near him. They had heard the report of his rifle, and, suspecting
what it meant, were carefully arranging to capture him for the purpose
of torture. Deerfoot had seen them, and, having also heard the gun,
learned what was going on. If your father had stayed where he was five
minutes longer, nothing could have saved him. I need not tell you that
he did not stay. Under the guidance of Deerfoot he managed to extricate
himself from his peril, and, by traveling the entire night, was beyond
all danger when the sun rose again. Deerfoot did not leave him until
certain he had no cause for fear. Then, when your father turned to thank
him, he was gone. He had departed as silently as a shadow."

"That was just like Deerfoot!" exclaimed Jack, with kindling eye; "it
seems to me he is like Washington. Though he has been in any number of
dangers, I don't believe he has so much as a scar on his little finger.

He has been fired upon I don't know how often, but, like Washington, he
carries a charmed life."

The serious mother shook her head, and, looking over her knitting at her
boy, made answer:

"Such a thing is unknown in this world; more than likely he will fall by
the knife or bullet of an enemy."

"I suppose he is liable to be shot, like any one else; but the Indian
that does it has got to be mighty smart to get ahead of him. Plenty of
them have tried it with knife and tomahawk, but they never lived to try
it on any one else. But that ain't the most wonderful part of it," added
Jack, shaking his head and gesticulating in his excitement with both
arms; "Deerfoot knows a good deal more about books than I do."

"That does not imply that he possesses any remarkable education," said
the mother, with a quiet smile.

The boy flushed, and sinking back said:

"I know I ain't the best-educated fellow in the settlement, but who ever
heard of a young Indian knowing how to read and write? Why, that fellow
can write the prettiest hand you ever saw. He carries a little Bible
with him: the print is so fine I can hardly read it, but he will stretch
out in the light of a poor camp-fire, and read it for an hour at a time.

I can't understand where he picked it all up, but he told me about the
Pacific Ocean, which is away beyond our country, and he spoke of the
land where the Saviour lived when he was on earth. I never felt so
ashamed of myself as I did when he sat down and told me such things. He
can repeat verse after verse from the Bible; he pronounced the Lord's
Prayer in Shawanoe, and then told me and Otto that if we would only use
the English a little oftener the Great Spirit would hear us. What do you
think of _that_?"

"It is very good advice."

"Of course it is, but the idea of a young Indian being that sort of
fellow! Well, there's no use of talking," added Jack, as though unable
to do justice to the theme, "he beats anything I ever heard of. If the
truth should be written as to what he has done, and put in a book, I
don't 'spose one person in a hundred would believe it. He promised to
come and see us."

"I hope he will," said the mother; "I shall always hold him in the
highest esteem and gratitude for his kindness to your father and to
you."

"I tell you it would have gone rough with Otto and me if it hadn't been
for him. I wonder how Otto is getting along?" said Jack, with an
expression of misgiving on his face.

"Why do you ask that?" inquired his mother.

"I think Deerfoot was worried over him."

"I do not understand you."

"Why, you know Otto has got the meanest father in the whole United
States of America----"

"Those are strong words," interrupted the parent reprovingly.

"It is contrary to your teaching to talk that way, but you know, too,
that it is the solemn truth. Deerfoot stopped at Jacob Relstaub's cabin,
in this very settlement, some weeks ago, when it was raining harder than
now, and asked for something to eat, and to stay all night. What do you
'spose Relstaub did? He abused him and turned him away."

"What a shame!" exclaimed the good woman indignantly. "Why did Deerfoot
not come here or to one of the other cabins?"

"I don't know, but he went off in the woods by himself. Otto tried to
befriend him, and was whipped for it; but Deerfoot never forgot it, and
he risked his life to help Otto and me."

"It was very unkind in Mr. Relstaub, but you have not told me why you
and Deerfoot were alarmed for Otto."

"Otto had the best horse that his father owns. It ran away from us, and,
though we tried hard to get him again, we couldn't, and Otto and I came
home on foot. Knowing his father as well as we do, Deerfoot and I were
afraid the poor fellow would be punished because he lost the animal. I
haven't had a chance to say much to Otto, and when I did, I didn't want
to ask him about it, but I would like to know whether he has been
punished for what he couldn't help."

"I can answer that question," said Mrs. Carleton, softly; "his father
whipped him most cruelly yesterday."

"The old scamp----"

"Tut, tut!" warned the parent, raising her finger, "it _was_ cruel, but
Otto will survive it, as he has many other times, and before many years
he will become so large that his father will not be able to punish him."

"I hope he will undertake it, and Otto will knock him----"

"Stop!" said the mother, more sternly, "you have already allowed your
feelings to lead you too far."

"Pardon me, mother," said Jack, humbly, "I would not hurt your feelings
for the world; but there is such a contrast between his father and you,
and his mother is just as bad----"

Jack checked himself again, for his quick ear detected something. He
turned quickly toward the door of the cabin, and his mother, reading the
meaning of the movement, did the same, holding her fingers motionless
while both listened.

The rain beat upon the roof, dashed against the window-panes, and
rattled on the logs of the cabin, with a melancholy sound that made the
interior seem doubly cheerful by contrast. At times the wind roared
among the trees, and some of the pattering drops found their way down
the chimney, and hissed among the flaming brands, making tiny black
points that were instantly wiped out by the ardor of the fire itself.

Suddenly the latch-string, which was only drawn in when the inmates were
ready to retire, was pulled, the latch raised, the door opened, and Otto
Relstaub, his garments dripping water, entered the room.

"Good-evening!" he called, pausing a moment to close the door against
the driving storm.

Both greeted the visitor, and Jack, laying aside his book, advanced and
warmly shook the hand of his friend, bringing him forward and giving him
a seat on the bench, which was drawn still nearer the fire.

Otto was attired very much as when we saw him last, but he did not carry
his gun with him. He took off his peaked hat, shook the water from it,
and then his broad, good-natured face, gleaming with moisture and rugged
health, was raised to meet the mild, inquiring gaze of the lady, who
asked him how he was.

"Oh, I ish well," he answered, speaking English much better than he did
a short time previous, "I have been working so hard dot I couldn't come
over before."

"I'm real glad to see you," said Jack, cordially, slapping him on the
back and making the water fly; "if you hadn't called to-night I would
have dropped in to-morrow to see you. We've hardly had a chance to speak
to each other since we got back."

"No, dot ish so," said Otto, with a sigh. "Father, he makes me work
harder as I never did, to make up for the time dot I wasted in play, he
says. By Jiminy! I don't think dot was much play, do you, Jack?"

"It was the worst play I ever went through; two boys never worked harder
for their lives than did we, and if it hadn't been for Deerfoot, we
never would have reached Martinsville. I suppose your father gave you a
whipping for losing Toby?"

"I should thinks he did! I hadn't been home one hours, when he went out
and cut a stick, and used it up on me, and he doned the same yesterday."

Jack was about to break forth into vigorous language, when his mother
anticipated him. Her voice was slightly tremulous, for, despite her
enforced calmness, she could not altogether restrain her feelings.

"Surely he could not have understood the matter; I will speak to your
mother."

Otto shrugged his shoulders, with a laugh in which there was more
sadness than mirth.

"Moder is worse than him; she tole him he didn't whips me half enough,
and so he tried it again yesterday. I heard her tells him to-night dot I
needed more, so I slips out and comes over here before he could get
everythings ready. May I stay here all night?"

"All night!" repeated Jack, "you may stay a week--a month--a year--yes,
_forever_."

"I don't want to stay dot long," said Otto, with his pleasant laugh;
"but fader, he tells me he will beat me every day till I brings back de
horse."

"Very well," said Jack, compressing his lips, "you won't go back till
you get the horse--if it takes five years."

"Did your father tell you to stay away till you recovered the animal?"
asked Mrs. Carleton.

"Dot vos just vot he says."

"Then it is proper that you should obey him."

Otto nodded his head to signify that his sentiments were those of his
friends. He glanced slyly around the room, but did not explain what he
was looking for, and, unfortunately, neither mother nor son suspected
the meaning of the look; but Otto's hard-hearted parents had actually
driven him from their home without allowing him to eat a mouthful of
dinner or supper. He was suffering with hunger, but was plucky enough to
bear it without complaining, since his friends had partaken and cleared
away the table long before.

"What do you intend to do?" asked Mrs. Carleton, who deeply sympathized
with the poor lad.

"I goes home in de mornings and gets my gun and powder-horn before they
can whips me, and then I goes off to hunt for Toby."

"And I'll go with you!" exclaimed the impulsive Jack, springing to his
feet; "you'll let me, mother, won't you?" he asked, turning beseechingly
toward her.

Recalling the perils through which her only child had passed so
recently, the widow could not but contemplate with dismay the prospect
of having him venture into the wilderness again; but she felt deeply for
poor honest Otto, who was so willing and good-natured, and who had shown
such a desire to help her while her own boy was in Kentucky.

Furthermore, she knew that Louisiana was a much less dangerous country
than the Dark and Bloody Ground. Few of the Shawanoes, Hurons, and other
actively hostile tribes ever crossed to the western side of the
Mississippi, where the Osages gave little trouble to the settlers
scattered through that immense territory.

Otto's eyes sparkled when Jack Carleton leaped to his feet and declared
he would go with him on the search for the lost horse (subject, of
course, to the consent of his mother), and the German youth looked
pleadingly toward the good woman, who, it is hardly necessary to say,
yielded consent, giving with it a large amount of motherly counsel, to
which the boys listened respectfully, though candor compels me to say
that the thoughts of both were far away among the green woods, beside
the sparkling streams, and in the shadows of the chasms, ravines, and
gloomy mountains, whither, as they well knew, the curious search would
lead them.