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At one end of the clearing stood their home. A rough log cabin was all it was, but it was home and consequently was very dear to the Halls. In the rear the clearing ran down to the edge of the woods and as much as possible of this land was under cultivation. Year by year the clearing had been enlarged until now it occupied a considerable extent. Joseph and Robert were busy at the opposite end from the place where their home stood.

“Black Hawk on the trail again!” exclaimed Robert in response to his brother’s remark.

“Exactly.”

“Who told you?”

“Deerfoot. I saw him early this morning down by the river.”

Deerfoot was a Pottowattomie Indian, friendly to the white settlers and to the Halls in particular. He had taught Joseph and Robert much of what they knew of woodcraft and that he was a skillful teacher was attested by the prowess the two boys had acquired.

“Is it serious?” demanded Robert anxiously. He had been removing weeds from the newly sprouted cornfield and he leaned on his hoe as he waited for his brother’s reply.