disciples and had recently become a teacher. He spoke English well and could read it fairly. He and David had been friends ever since shortly after the latter’s arrival in that vicinity, at which time David had been a boy of nine years and Pikot twelve. They had hunted together and lost themselves together in the Long Marsh, and had had the usual adventures and misadventures falling to the lot of boys whether they be white or red. For the last three years, though, Pikot’s duties had held him closer to the village and their meetings had been fewer. The Indian was a splendid-looking youth, tall and straight—for which David had once dubbed him Straight Arrow-with hard, lean muscles and a gracefulness that was like the swaying litheness of a panther. His features were exceptional for one of a tribe not usually endowed with good looks, for his forehead was broad, his eyes well apart, and his whole countenance indicated nobility. His gaze was direct and candid, and, which was unusual in his people, his mouth curved slightly upward at the corners, giving him a less grave expression than most Indians showed. Perhaps David had taught him to laugh, or, at least, to smile, for he did so fre-
