The lad thrust his hands into the cold pool, and bathed his face.

The water was icy cold, and sent an invigorating thrill through him.

Then he laughed as he took a rude comb Wetzel handed to him.
"My scalp is nothing to make an Indian very covetous, is it ?" said he, eyeing in admiration the magnificent black hair that fell over the hunter's shoulders.
"It'll grow," answered Wetzel.
Joe did not wonder at the care Wetzel took of his hair, nor did he misunderstand the hunter's simple pride.

Wetzel was very careful of his rifle, he was neat and clean about his person, he brushed his buckskin costume, he polished his knife and tomahawk; but his hair received more attention than all else.

It required much care.