A crisp wind blew in the faces of the three belt bearers--now belt bearers no longer, but Henry Ware, Tom Ross, and Solomon Hyde, white of skin and white of heart.

They sped forward on fleet foot many miles, and it was Shif'less Sol who spoke first.
"Shall we stop at this spring," he said, "an' wash the paint off our faces?
I want to look like a white man agin, jest ez I am.

I don't feel nat'ral at all ez an Injun." "Neither do I," said Tom Ross, "I don't like to change faces, an' right here I wash mine." The three stooped down to the spring, and as they rubbed off the paint they felt their right natures returning.
"I'm thankful I wuz born white," said Shif'less Sol.

"Why, what is it, Henry ?" Henry Ware had raised his head in the attitude of one who listens.

His eyes were intent and nostrils distended like those of a deer that suspects an enemy.
"We're followed," he said.