“Look, my friend,” he called. “The whole sky is burning. It is growing daylight. The world is burning up.”
As they stepped away from the fire, they all saw the strange appearance of the sky. It was indeed growing daylight, although it was still before midnight.
Great streamers and bundles of whitish and reddish light were shooting up from all points on the horizon toward the zenith. Some streamers flickered, swayed and died out, but others took their places and for half an hour it was light enough to read. The river, the bottom forest, even the Wisconsin bluffs could be plainly seen. The men could even see their canoe amongst the willows below.
“The world is coming to an end,” Tatanka muttered, overcome by his superstitious fears.
“No, it isn’t,” Barker explained to him. “We are seeing a grand display of northern lights, the greatest I have ever seen, although I have seen them many, many times. This is something many city people never see, because they are always cooped up in houses.”
In an hour it was dark again, and the tired hunters rolled up in their blankets before the fire.
“Make a night-cap out of your handkerchiefs,” Barker advised the boys. “The night is going to be chilly and your heads and ears will get cold if they are not covered.”
Early in the morning they started for the field, where the boy had herded the cranes. The birds were there again, and it was not hard to get within range, although they were much more wary of the hunters than they had been of the small boy with his stick. When the great birds arose, all four fired and each man brought down his bird.
As Bill ran to pick up his game, the trapper called to him, “Look out, Bill; he isn’t dead!”
But Bill was too eager to take warning. The bird suddenly straightened out his long neck and shot his sharp beak right into Bill’s face.