As Snana emerged from the bushes with her charge, a young hunter met her face to face, and stared at her curiously. He was not of her father’s camp, but a stranger.
“Ugh, you have my game.”
“Tosh!” she replied coquettishly.
It was so often said among the Indians that the doe was wont to put on human form to mislead the hunter, that it looked strange to see a woman with a fawn, and the young man could not forbear to gaze upon Snana.
“You are not the real mother in maiden’s guise? Tell me truly if you are of human blood,” he demanded rudely.
“I am a Sioux maiden! Do you not know my father?” she replied.
“Ah, but who is your father? What is his name?” he insisted, nervously fingering his arrows.
“Do not be a coward! Surely you should know a maid of your own race,” she replied reproachfully.
“Ah, you know the tricks of the doe! What is thy name?”
“Hast thou forgotten the etiquette of thy people, and wouldst compel me to pronounce my own name? I refuse; thou art jesting!” she retorted with a smile.