The sun, shining into the tepee through the opening over the fireplace,
roused The Stone to her day's work. She lost no time in setting a task
for her little slave. Handing her a needle carved from the bone of a
deer and thread made of a deer's sinew, she hade her sew up a rent in
the skin curtain of the doorway.
Poor Timid Hare! she had learned to embroider and to weave baskets in
the old home, but sewing on heavy skins had never yet fallen to her
share of the daily duties. "There will be time enough," White Mink had
thought, "when the little fingers have grown bigger and the tender back
is stronger."
So now the hands were clumsy, and the stitches were not as even as they
should be. The Stone watched her with a scowl and frequent scoldings;
often an uplifted arm seemed ready to strike. But seeing that the
child was trying to do her best, the expected beating did not come.
After she and Black Bull had eaten their own breakfast of bread made
out of wild rice, together with some buffalo fat, she gave a small
portion to Timid Hare. Then she and Black Bull went out of the lodge,
leaving the little girl alone at her work.
How different--how very different--this home was from the one among the
Mandans! The old one was so big and comfortable, and there was such a
jolly household of parents and grandparents and uncles and aunts, and
children of all ages gathered together under one roof. Then, too, the
floor was so smooth and shiny, and the bedsteads, each one shut off by
a curtain and made pretty with fringe and pictures, seemed almost like
tiny sleeping rooms. Moreover, the banking of earth over the framework
of the lodge kept out the chill winds and biting cold of winter.
But here, in The Stoned tepee, where the skin covering was old and
torn, one must often suffer. At least so thought Timid Hare as she
looked up now and then from her work to get acquainted with her new
home.
"Besides, it is so small," she said to herself, "and only two people in
the whole household before I came. How strange it is!"
It was quite true that the ways of the Dahcotas were unlike those of
the Mandans. Each family lived by itself and thus the home did not
need to be so large. Timid Hare did not know this, nor that the
people, as a rule, lived in great comfort. They preferred tents,
rather than houses like those of the Mandans, of frame-work covered
with earth because they liked to move from place to place and they
could thus carry their homes with them. Yet their tepees were warm and
comfortable because the covering of strong, thick buffalo skins was
generally double. Fires were kept burning on their hearths in winter
and supplies of food and clothing were easy to obtain from the wild
creatures of the woods and prairies. What more could any red people
wish?
Timid Hare had heard her foster father tell much of the powerful
Dahcotas and that they were rich, as Indians count riches.
"Why are they so powerful?" she now asked herself. "Ugh! it was
because of their fierce war spirit. It was this that made them drive
other tribes before them, so that they became free to roam over the
prairies and enjoy the richest hunting grounds."
"I cannot help myself," now thought the child. "If I should run away,
the braves would either find and kill me, or I should be devoured by
the hungry wolves that go forth at nightfall."
But might not Three Bears make up a war party and go forth to seek her?
"Alas! that may not be," Timid Hare told herself. "My dear father
would himself meet death at the hands of these cruel warriors."
The rent in the curtain was nearly sewed up when Black Bull stole into
the lodge. He wanted to talk to the little stranger with eyes sad like
his own, and he did not wish his mother to know it.
Behind Black Bull came his dog, wolfish-looking like most of his breed,
but as Black Bull squatted in his corner, the animal crouched close at
his master's side as though he loved him.
"Poor fellow, he has a pet to follow him about just as I had at home,"
thought Timid Hare. "Perhaps by-and-by the dog may learn to love me
too." There was a big lump in the little girl's throat, and she
coughed as she tried to choke it back.
"Hard work," said Black Bull as he watched her pulling the coarse
thread through the buffalo skin and trying not to tear it. "Hard
work," he repeated. "Too bad."
Timid Hare nodded. "Good dog," she ventured after a while, looking at
the dog with a sad little smile. "I had a dog; I loved him," she added.
"Very good dog. He is my friend," replied the youth. "He goes with me
everywhere--everywhere. He makes me--not lonely. I call him Smoke."
Black Bull put his arm lovingly around Smoke's neck and the dog whined
softly. It was the only way in which he could say, "I love you, poor
master, if no one else does."
"My people are great people," Black Bull went on. "They are very
strong." Timid Hare nodded. "The Dahcotas are brave above all men.
Their bands are so many I could not count them." The very thought of
counting a large number made the simple-minded youth look puzzled.
"And they are tall and strong of body beyond the red men of all tribes."
Again Timid Hare nodded. But she also shuddered as she thought that
she was in their power, a helpless captive. Then, as her eyes turned
towards Black Bull, they filled with pity. Here was one of the
Dahcotas, at least, who was not strong and tall and well-shaped. Nor
would he do her harm, she felt sure.
Black Bull had turned to his lute which lay on the floor behind him and
begun to play a low, sweet tune when The Stone entered the lodge. She
looked sharply at Timid Hare, and then at the work which the little
girl had just finished.
"Ugh! Ugh!" grunted the squaw. "You must learn to sew better than
that, you little cringing coward. Ah, ha! I know something that may
help you." The Stone cut the air with a switch that she held in her
hand. "Something else may also help you to gain the spirit of a red
woman. Of that, by-and-by. And now you shall fetch me fresh water
from the spring. Black Bull, put yourself to some use. Show the girl
where the water may be drawn."
Handing an earthen crock to Timid Hare, she turned to her own
work--that of making dye out of the clay she had got the day before.
Timid Hare, holding the big crock as carefully as possible on her
shoulder, followed Black Bull out of the tepee. It seemed good to be
outdoors, even in a village of the Dahcotas. In the doorway of the
next lodge stood a young woman with pleasant eyes and beautiful glossy
hair. She looked curiously at the little girl, for she had just heard
of her capture. She must have pitied the child, for she smiled kindly
at her. Black Bull, catching the smile, said, "The Fountain, this is
Timid Hare. Is she not strange to look upon--so fair? She must be
like the pale-faces I have never seen."
The Fountain had no chance to answer, for Black Bull now turned to his
companion. "Hurry, Timid Hare, hurry, lest my mother be angry and beat
you."
As the two went on their way, the little girl saw other children like
herself, playing together and laughing happily. One of them had her
doll, and was carrying it in a baby-cradle on her back. She was
pretending it was too small to walk, and was singing a lullaby to make
it go to sleep.
All the children stopped to look at the little stranger.
"A Mandan! Oof!" cried one.
"Her hair is not black like ours," said another.
"Nor is her skin as dark. She is more like the pale-faces whom we
hate," remarked a third.
Then they turned to their play as if she were not worth noticing, and
poor little Timid Hare blushed for shame. It was hard indeed that even
the children should despise her.
A little farther on she noticed a group of men dancing together in the
sunlight. They were much taller than the Mandan braves, and noble to
look upon, as Black Bull had said. But to the little girl holding in
mind the capture of the day before, they seemed cruel and fearful even
now while they were dancing.
"The Dahcotas dance much--always," explained Black Bull, pointing to
the men. "We have many, many dances. For everything there is a dance.
When we feast, and before we hunt, when councils are held, when guests
come among us, we dance. It is a noble thing to dance. Sometimes," he
went on, "it is too make us laugh. Sometimes it is to make our faces
grow long--so!"
At this Black Bull's face took on a look of sadness as though he were
grieving.
Timid Hare was used to the dances of the Mandans, and she loved them.
But they were not so many as those of the Dahcotas, she felt sure.
Why, the night before, whenever she wakened, she heard the sound of
dancing in different lodges in the village.
"There is the spring. Now I go," said Black Bull, pointing it out
half-hidden in a hollow shaded by clumps of bushes. The youth, with
Smoke who had followed close at his heels ever since leaving the lodge,
turned back and Timid Hare stooped down to fill the crock.
As she did so her eyes met a pair of large black ones fastened upon her
own, and just above the water's edge. They belonged to the chief's
only son Young Antelope, who had come for a drink of cool water before
going off on a hunting trip. He was a handsome youth. As he lay
stretched out on the grassy bank above the spring he had heard the
sound of Timid Hare's steps as she drew near, and looked up to see who
it was.
"Oof! the stranger," he said, but he did not scowl like the little
girls whom the little captive had passed a few minutes before.
The next minute he had sprung to his pony's back and gone galloping
away. Timid Hare thought sadly of the dear foster-brother far away on
the wide prairie, as she trudged back with her load to the tepee where
The Stone awaited her.