the village to get a certain clay for making red dye
with which The Stone wished to color some reeds for basket weaving.
Night had taken then by surprise, and wolves howling in the distance
made them travel as fast as the poor deformed youth could go.

[Illustration: The Stone and her son Black Bull were hurrying home.]

The Stone was the first of the two to enter the lodge. She was bent
and wrinkled, and her cunning, cruel eyes opened wide with surprise as
she saw her visitors.

"Ugh! what does this mean?" she asked sharply, as she looked from the
brave to the cowering child still held in his strong grip. "Are you
bringing a daughter of the pale-faces into my keeping?" She ended with
a wicked laugh.

"Not much better--it is a child of the Mandans who fell into my hands.
Better to kill her at once--a goodly scalp that!" With the words the
man pointed to his captive's long and beautiful hair.

He continued: "But Bent Horn says, No. Let The Stone take her into her
keeping. So it is then--Timid Hare, shall draw water for you and wait
upon you and your son."

Black Bull, who had followed close upon his mother, stood staring at
the captive with wild eyes. The poor fellow was small-witted, as well
as deformed. He was eighteen years old, yet he had no more
understanding than a small child. His face was not cruel like his
mother's, however. His eyes were sad and spoke of a longing for
something--but what that something was even Black Bull himself did not
understand.

As the little girl looked at him a tiny hope leaped up in her heart.
"He will not be unkind to me, at any rate," she decided. "And I am
sorry for him that he has such a mother."

Following close upon this thought came another. It was of White
Mink--dear, kind White Mink who was perhaps at this very moment weeping
over the loss of her little Swift Fawn.

"But there is no Swift Fawn--she is dead, dead, dead. There is now
only Timid Hare, the slave of a wicked woman."--The child shuddered at
the thought. She came to herself to hear The Stone saying,

"Leave her to me and I will train her in the good ways of the
Dahcotas." The man smiled grimly and went his way, and the woman
turning to her charge said: "Come, don't stand there cowering and
useless. Busy yourself. Pile wood upon the fire and put water in that
kettle. My son and I are hungry and would eat, and the meat must yet
be cooked."

With The Stone's words came a blow on Timid Ha