When combed out it reached fully to his knees.

Joe had seen him, after he returned from a long hunt, work patiently for an hour with his wooden comb, and not stop until every little burr was gone, or tangle smoothed out.

Then he would comb it again in the morning--this, of course, when time permitted--and twist and tie it up so as to offer small resistance to his slipping through the underbush.

Joe knew the hunter's simplicity was such, that if he cut off his hair it would seem he feared the Indians--for that streaming black hair the Indians had long coveted and sworn to take.

It would make any brave a famous chief, and was the theme of many a savage war tale.
After breakfast Wetzel said to Joe: "You stay here, an' I'll look round some; mebbe I'll come back soon, and we'll go out an' kill a buffalo.