lly through his medicine-box and see whether there might not
be some balm which would restore the Good Hunter to life. Then each
animal looked carefully through his medicine-box of herbs and healing
roots, bark and magic leaves, and they tried every remedy that they
knew. But nothing brought the color to their friend's pale cheeks, nor
light into his eyes. He who had helped them so often was helpless now,
and they could not aid him. Again the kind beasts sank back on their
haunches and raised a mighty howl, a requiem for the dead.

Wild and piercing and long-drawn, the sound swept through the forest,
such a sound of sorrow as had never been heard before. The Oriole, who
was flying overhead, heard and was surprised. Soon his brightness came
flashing down through the leafy boughs like a ray of sunlight into the
gloom and darkness of the forest.

"What has happened, O four-footed friends," he asked, "that you mourn so
mightily?" Then they showed him the body of the Good Hunter lying in the
midst of their sad company, and the Oriole joined his voice of sorrow to
theirs.

"O friend of the birds," he cried, "is there no bird who can aid you
now, you who have fed us so many times from the door of your generous
wigwam? I will call all the feathered tribes, and we will do our best."

So the Oriole went forth and summoned the birds to the forest council.
There was a great flapping of wings, a great twittering and chirping,
questioning and exclamation when the birds assembled to hear the sad
news. Every one was there, from the tiny Humming Bird to the great
Eagle of the Iroquois, who left his lonely eyrie to pay his respects to
the Good Hunter's memory. The poor little birds tried everything in
their power to bring back to life their dear friend. With beak and claw
and tender wing they strove, but all their efforts were in vain. Their
Good Hunter was dead, and his scalp was gone.

Then the great Eagle, whose head was white with years of wisdom and
experience, spoke to the despairing assemblage of creatures. From his
lofty perch above the world the Eagle had looked down upon centuries of
change and decay. He knew every force of nature and all the strange
things of life. The hoary-headed sage said that the Good Hunter could
not be restored until his scalp was found. Then all the animals clamored
that they might be allowed to go and seek for the missing scalp. But to
the Fox was given this honor, because he had first found the bo