came back to prowl, since the light had left the world, and they
were no longer afraid. They all sought to circumvent the poor Indian,
but the little brown bat circled around and around his head, and he kept
saying: "Come to me, little brown bat. Let White Otter put his hand on
you; come to my hand."

But the bat said nothing, though it continued to fly around his head. He
waved his arms widely at it, trying to reach it. With a fortunate sweep
it struck his hand, his fingers clutched around it, and as he drew back
his arm he found his little brown bat dead in the vise-like grip. White
Otter's medicine had come to him.

Folding himself in his robe, and still grasping the symbol of the Good
God's protection, he lay down to sleep. The stone giants ceased their
clamors, and all the world grew still.

White Otter was sleeping.

In his dreams came the voice of God, saying: "I have given it, given you
the little brown bat. Wear it always on your scalp-lock, and never
let it away from you for a moment. Talk to it, ask of it all manner of
questions, tell it the secrets of your shadow-self, and it will take
you through battle so fast that no arrow or bullet can hit you. It will
steal you away from the spirits which haunt the night. It will whisper
to you concerning the intentions of the women, and your enemies, and it
will make you wise in the council when you are older. If you adhere to
it and follow its dictation, it will give you the white hair of old age
on this earth, and bring you to the shadow-land when your turn comes."

The next day, when the sun had come again, White Otter walked down the
mountain, and at the foot met his father with ponies and buffalo meat.
The old man had followed on his trail, but had gone no farther.

"I am strong now, father. I can protect my body and my shadow--the Good
God has come to Wo-pe-ni-in."

II. The Brown Bat Proves Itself

Big Hair and his son, White Otter, rode home slowly, back through
the coulees and the pines and the sage-brush to the camp of the
Chis-chis-chash. The squaws took their ponies when they came to their
lodge.

Days of listless longing followed the journey to the Inyan-kara in
search of the offices of the Good God, and the worn body and fevered
mind of White Otter recovered their normal placidity. The red warrior
on his resting-mat sinks in a torpor which a sunning mud-turtle on a
log only hopes to attain, but he stores up energy, which must sooner or
l