Still extended on the ground, the dark figure removed the scalp.  Slowly he crawled back down the hill, and was lost in the gathering darkness.  It was Mik-a’pi, and he had another Snake scalp tied to his belt.  His heart was glad, yet he was not satisfied.  Some nights had passed since the bad signs had warned him, yet he had succeeded.  “One more,” he said.  “One more scalp I must have, and then I will go back.”  So he went far up on the mountain, and hid in some thick pines and slept.  When daylight came, he could see smoke rise as the women started their fires.  He also saw many people rush up on the hill, where the dead watcher lay.  He was too far off to hear their angry shouts and mournful cries, but he sung to himself a song of war and was happy.

Once more the sun went to his lodge behind the mountains, and as darkness came Mik-a’pi slowly descended the mountain and approached the camp.  This was the time of danger.  Behind each bush, or hidden in a bunch of the tall rye grass, some person might be watching to warn the camp of an approaching enemy.  Slowly and like a snake, he crawled around the outskirts of the camp, listening and looking.  He heard a cough and saw a movement of a bush.  There was a Snake.  Could he kill him and yet escape?  He was close to him now.  So he sat and waited, considering how to act.  For a long time he sat there waiting.  The moon rose and travelled high in the sky.  The Seven Persons[1] slowly swung around, and pointed downward.  It was the middle of the night.  Then the person in the bush stood up and stretched out his arms and yawned, for he was tired of watching, and thought that no danger was near; but as he stood thus, an arrow pierced his breast.  He gave a loud yell and tried to run, but another arrow struck him and he fell.

[Footnote 1:  The constellation of the Great Bear.]

At the sound the warriors rushed forth from the lodges and the outskirts of the camp; but as they came, Mik-a’pi tore the scalp from his fallen enemy, and started to run toward the river.  Close behind him followed the Snakes.  Arrows whizzed about him.  One pierced his arm.  He plucked it out.  Another struck his leg, and he fell.  Then a great shout arose from the Snakes.  Their enemy was down.  Now they would be revenged for two lately taken lives.  But where Mik-a’pi fell was the verge of a high rock wall; below rushed the deep river, and even as they shouted, he rolled from the wall, and disappeared in the dark water far below.  In vain they searched the shores and bars.  They did not find him.

Mik-a’pi had sunk deep in the water.  The current was swift, and when at last he rose to the surface, he was far below his pursuers.  The arrow in his leg pained him, and with difficulty he crawled out on a sand-bar.  Luckily the arrow was lance-shaped instead of barbed, so he managed to draw it out.  Near by on the bar was a dry pine log, lodged there by the high spring water.  This he managed to roll into the stream; and, partly resting on it, he again drifted down with the current.  All night he floated down the river, and when morning came he was far from the camp of the Snakes.  Benumbed with cold and stiff from the arrow wounds, he was glad to crawl out on the bank, and lie down in the warm sunshine.  Soon he slept.