that it was like being on another planet. He
had never yet learned exactly where he was, but he knew it must be in
the high mountains of the far north, and therefore toward the Pacific
coast.

Then all these memories and mental questions faded, as the life of the
village became absorbing again. Frightened herds of elk and moose,
evidently chased by the great carnivora or in search of food, came into
the valley and the Indians killed as many as they needed. They might
have killed more, but Xingudan forbade them.

"Let them take shelter here," he said, "and grow more numerous. It is
not to the interest of our people that the big deer should decrease in
numbers, and if we are wise we will let live that which we do not need
to eat."

They saw the wisdom of Xingudan's words and obeyed him. Perhaps there
was not another Indian village in all North America which had greater
plenty than Xingudan's in that winter, so long and terrible, in the
northern mountains. Big game was abundant, and fish could always be
obtained through holes in the thick ice that invariably covered the
river. Their greatest difficulty was in keeping the horses, but they met
the emergency. Not only did the horses dig under the snow with their
sharp feet, but the Indians themselves, with Will at their head,
uncovered or brought much forage for them.

Will understood why such sedulous care was bestowed upon the ponies,
which could be of little use among the great mountains. When spring was
fully come they would go eastward out of the mountains, and upon the
vast plains, where they would hunt the buffalo. Then he must escape.
Although he was an adopted Sioux, the son of Inmutanka, and had adapted
himself to the life of the village, where he was not unhappy, he felt at
times the call of his own people.

The call was especially strong when he was alone in the lodge, and the
snow was driving heavily outside. Then the faces of the scout, the
Little Giant and the beaver hunter appeared very clearly before him. His
place was with them, if they were still alive, and in the spring, when
the doors of ice that closed the valley were opened, he would go, if he
could.

But the spring was long in coming. Xingudan himself could not recall
when it had ever before been so late. But come at last it did, with
mighty rains, the sliding of avalanches, the breaking up of the ice,
floods in the river and countless torrents. When the waters subsided and
the slopes were clea