“I bring you word from our chief,” he told her.  “The captive, Timid Hare, is to return with me.  She will serve the maiden Sweet Grass.”

The Stone’s ugly eyes filled with anger.  Yet she did not dare refuse the command of the chief.

“Go,” she said turning to Timid Hare, who was busy at one side of the lodge pounding wild rice into flour.  “Go, you cowardly good-for-nothing.  Let the chief discover what I have borne.”

Timid Hare was almost overcome with delight.  To serve the beautiful maiden, Sweet Grass!  It seemed too good to be true.

Yet it must be true, for The Stone, with uplifted arms, was fairly driving her from the lodge as she would a troublesome mosquito.

As the little girl passed through the doorway she met Black Bull entering, with Smoke at his heels.  Over the youth’s eyes swept a cloud of fear at the unusual brightness in the little girl’s face.  He felt instantly that she was going to leave him.  Sad as she had been, she had brought a little sunshine into the dreary home.

“Good-bye, Black Bull,” she whispered.  “I will not forget you.”  Then, without a last glance at The Stone, she hurried on after the messenger who had come for her.

When she reached the chief’s lodge, there was Sweet Grass waiting for her with a kind smile.  The maiden’s mother, whom she had never seen before, was also in the lodge.  The squaw was busily cooking the evening meal like any other red woman, though her husband was the chief of the whole band.

Sweet Grass had just motioned to the little girl to take her place beside her, when Young Antelope burst into the tepee.  The day before he had gone hunting, and when night came had not appeared.  His mother and sister had worried at his absence, but the chief had said, “We will not fear.  The lad has no doubt lost his way.  But he knows how to care for himself.”

And now Young Antelope stood once more in the home, safe and happy!  He had had an exciting adventure, and was eager to tell of it.  Yes, he had lost his way out on the prairies.  He was ashamed of this, for he had been taught that an Indian should always watch the winds and the heavens, and carefully mark every change in the appearance of the country over which he travels; then it is an easy matter to find his way back without trouble.

But his pony was fleet of foot, and the birds he was seeking flew fast.  After many, many miles had been covered and his game bag had been filled, he decided to return.  But he was hungry; he thought of the tender birds he had killed and of the feast they would make.

“I will rest for awhile and cook some of the game,” he decided.

All this he now told his mother on his return home.  So eager was he to describe his adventure that he did not notice the little stranger squatting beside Sweet Grass, and looking at him with admiring eyes.

“I soon had a fire started,” he continued, “and then began to roast my game.  Ugh! the feast was a fine one.  But after it was over, I began the search for home.  Then darkness fell suddenly and fast gathering clouds covered the setting sun.  I was alone and far from you all.  I could hear wolves howling in the distance.  They were hungry as I had been.”