of the larger moose. Both dashed into the thick woods, but it was too
late. The Cree maiden had already loosened her second arrow. Both fell
dead before reaching the shore."

"Uncle, she must have had a splendid aim, for in the woods the many
little twigs make an arrow bound off to one side," I interrupted in
great excitement.

"Yes, but you must remember she was very near the moose."

"It seems to me, then, uncle, that they must have scented her, for
you have told me that they possess the keenest nose of any animal," I
persisted.

"Doubtless the wind was blowing the other way. But, nephew, you must let
me finish my story.

"Overjoyed by her success, the maiden hastened back to Nawakawee, but she
was gone! The ponies were gone, too, and the wigwam of branches had been
demolished. While Manitoshaw stood there, frightened and undecided what
to do, a soft voice came from behind a neighboring thicket:

"'Manitoshaw! Manitoshaw! I am here!'

"She at once recognized, the voice and found it to be Nawakeewee, who
told a strange story. That morning a canoe had crossed the Wanagiska
carrying two men. They were Sioux. The old grandmother had seen them
coming, and to deceive them she at once pulled down her temporary
wigwam, and drove the ponies off toward home. Then she hid herself in
the bushes near by, for she knew that Manitoshaw must return there.

"'Come, my granddaughter, we must hasten home by another way,' cried the
old woman.

"But the maiden said, 'No, let us go first to my two moose that I killed
this morning and take some meat with us.'

"'No, no, my child; the Sioux are cruel. They have killed many of
our people. If we stay here they will find us. I fear, I fear them,
Manitoshaw!'

"At last the brave maid convinced her grandmother, and the more easily
as she too was hungry for meat. They went to where the big game lay
among the bushes, and began to dress the moose."

"I think, if I were they, I would hide all day. I would wait until the
Sioux had gone; then I would go back to my moose," I interrupted for the
third time.

"I will finish the story first; then you may tell us what you would do,"
said my uncle reprovingly.

"The two Sioux were father and son. They too had come to the lake for
moose; but as the game usually retreated to the island, Chatansapa had
landed his son Kangiska to hunt them on the shore while he returned in
his canoe to intercept their flight. The young man sped along the sandy