e of the pen, there had been much
singing, conjuring, dancing and beating of drums. But to no purpose.
Daily, she wasted. She was dying!

He was not allowed to see her, to tend her fire or clean her kettle.
When, on her removal, he had dared to stop at her tent-flap with a
string of pike, Afraid-of-a-Fawn swooped down upon him, her long tushes
clicking and frothing, snatched the wall-eyes from his hold and
belaboured him with them. He had not gone back. But, in secret, he
grieved over Brown Mink's suffering. And often he petitioned in her
behalf, and lifted his worshipping vine toward the Milky Way.

In his sorrow, his shoulders were bent lower than ever, his ebon eyes
were more doglike. Yet, he still dreamed of reinstatement, for he saw
(though he could not understand it) that the warriors were again
counting on escape!

They were unkempt no longer, but wore their hair neatly braided and
well-greased. They ate sparingly, and only twice a day. They almost
forswore water. And by covert exercise they trained away their flesh.
Standing Buffalo and his haughty comrades did not waddle now under a
weight of fat. As on the day of their capture, they were lank and
stately.

Rejoicing in their hopes, he, too, had not been without preparation. A
rusty knife found in a rubbish heap by the river had been polished by
thrusting it repeatedly into the dirt. In spare moments, he made himself
a sinew-backed bow, and practised many hours with it. He spent no time
in the lean-to--his guard there had ceased. The necessity for food did
not take him to the shack--his arrows brought down game which he cooked.
At any time, with a sharp stick, he could root up his fill of wild
turnips. He knew where ripe berries loaded the bushes, and where the
plums reddened in the thickets. And how could he chance staying out of
the stockade after midnight, when any dawn might find his brothers free?

Thoughts of Brown Mink alone took his mind from his dream. He yearned to
see her again, to mark how far disease had ravaged, to show her that
though all others were indifferent, he was not. And he had determined to
tell her farewell--to tell her that he would win back his lost rank. For
this, he would even break his vow of silence!

The end that he might gain her side hinged upon two things: His reaching
her wickie-up unseen, and the absence of the crone. These he hoped for
now, as he peered from his corner.

Despite the smudge he could see whatever went