“Why are they so powerful?” she now asked herself.  “Ugh! it was because of their fierce war spirit.  It was this that made them drive other tribes before them, so that they became free to roam over the prairies and enjoy the richest hunting grounds.”

“I cannot help myself,” now thought the child.  “If I should run away, the braves would either find and kill me, or I should be devoured by the hungry wolves that go forth at nightfall.”

But might not Three Bears make up a war party and go forth to seek her?  “Alas! that may not be,” Timid Hare told herself.  “My dear father would himself meet death at the hands of these cruel warriors.”

The rent in the curtain was nearly sewed up when Black Bull stole into the lodge.  He wanted to talk to the little stranger with eyes sad like his own, and he did not wish his mother to know it.

Behind Black Bull came his dog, wolfish-looking like most of his breed, but as Black Bull squatted in his corner, the animal crouched close at his master’s side as though he loved him.

“Poor fellow, he has a pet to follow him about just as I had at home,” thought Timid Hare.  “Perhaps by-and-by the dog may learn to love me too.”  There was a big lump in the little girl’s throat, and she coughed as she tried to choke it back.

“Hard work,” said Black Bull as he watched her pulling the coarse thread through the buffalo skin and trying not to tear it.  “Hard work,” he repeated.  “Too bad.”

Timid Hare nodded.  “Good dog,” she ventured after a while, looking at the dog with a sad little smile.  “I had a dog; I loved him,” she added.

“Very good dog.  He is my friend,” replied the youth.  “He goes with me everywhere—­everywhere.  He makes me—­not lonely.  I call him Smoke.”

Black Bull put his arm lovingly around Smoke’s neck and the dog whined softly.  It was the only way in which he could say, “I love you, poor master, if no one else does.”

“My people are great people,” Black Bull went on.  “They are very strong.”  Timid Hare nodded.  “The Dahcotas are brave above all men.  Their bands are so many I could not count them.”  The very thought of counting a large number made the simple-minded youth look puzzled.  “And they are tall and strong of body beyond the red men of all tribes.”

Again Timid Hare nodded.  But she also shuddered as she thought that she was in their power, a helpless captive.  Then, as her eyes turned towards Black Bull, they filled with pity.  Here was one of the Dahcotas, at least, who was not strong and tall and well-shaped.  Nor would he do her harm, she felt sure.

Black Bull had turned to his lute which lay on the floor behind him and begun to play a low, sweet tune when The Stone entered the lodge.  She looked sharply at Timid Hare, and then at the work which the little girl had just finished.

“Ugh!  Ugh!” grunted the squaw.  “You must learn to sew better than that, you little cringing coward.  Ah, ha!  I know something that may help you.”  The Stone cut the air with a switch that she held in her hand.  “Something else may also help you to gain the spirit of a red woman.  Of that, by-and-by.  And now you shall fetch me fresh water from the spring.  Black Bull, put yourself to some use.  Show the girl where the water may be drawn.”