Chaske was delighted to find her.  “Why did you leave me?” called he.  “I should have died of grief if I had not found you.”

“Did I not tell you that I could not live like the Dahcotah women?” replied Mocassin Flower.  “You need not have watched me to find out what I eat.  Return to your own people; you will find there women enough who eat venison.”

The little boy clapped his hands with delight when he saw his father, and wanted to go to him; but his mother would not let him.  She tied a string to his leg and told him to go, and the child would plunge into the water, and when he had nearly reached the shore where his father sat, then would the beaver-woman draw him back.

In the meantime the Dahcotah had been trying to persuade his wife to come to him, and return to the lodge; but she refused to do so, and sat combing her long hair.  The child had cried itself to sleep; and the Dahcotah, worn out with fatigue and grief, thought he would go to sleep too.

After a while a woman came and touched him on the shoulder, and awaked him as of old.  He started and looked at her, and perceiving it was not his wife, felt inclined to take little notice of her.

“What,” said she, “does a Dahcotah warrior still love a woman who hates him?”

“Mocassin Flower loves me well,” replied the Dahcotah; “she has been a good wife.”

“Yes,” replied the woman, “she was for a time; but she sighs to return home—­her heart yearns towards the lover of her youth.”

Chaske was very angry.  “Can this be true?” he said; and he looked towards the beaver dam where his wife still sat.  In the meantime the woman who had waked him, brought him some food in bark dishes worked with porcupine.

“Eat,” she said to the Dahcotah; “you are hungry.”

But who can tell the fury that Mocassin Flower was in when she saw that strange woman bringing her husband food.  “Who are you,” she cried, “that are troubling yourself about my husband?  I know you well; you are the ‘Bear-Woman.’”

“And if I am,” said the Bear woman, “do not the souls of the bears enjoy forever the heaven of the Dahcotah?”

Poor Chaske! he could not prevent their quarrelling, so, being very hungry, he soon disposed of what the Bear woman had brought him.  When he had done eating, she took the bark dishes.  “Come with me,” she said; “you cannot live in the water, and I will take you to a beautiful lodge, and we will be happy.”

The Dahcotah turned to his wife, but she gave him no encouragement to remain.  “Well,” said he, “I always loved adventures, and I will go and seek some more.”

The new wife was not half so pretty as the old one.  Then she was so wilful, and ordered him about—­as if women were anything but dogs in comparison with a Dahcotah warrior.  Yes, he who had scorned the Dahcotah girls, as they smiled upon him, was now the slave of a bear-woman; but there was one comfort—­there were no warriors to laugh at him.