“A long time ago the Catawba marched into the country of the Delaware. They found a Delaware camp. They tied buffalo hoofs to their feet and made buffalo tracks in the snow. Then in the morning the Delaware saw the buffalo tracks, and followed to hunt meat. The Catawba surprised them, and killed many and ran off with the scalps. The Delaware from the camp gave chase, for the trail was plain. But the Catawba had set sharp splinters dipped in snake poison in the trail, and the Delaware stepped on these and were made sick. Then the Catawba turned about and caught the Delaware and killed more.
“The Catawba are cunning. Their minds are full of evil tricks. To hunt the Catawba is more dangerous than hunting the panther or the mother bear. When you see a Catawba trail, be very careful of it. Now in the morning we rise early, to be ready. The Catawba are not many. They shall run home weeping.”
By his snores Silver Heels was asleep before White Thunder had finished. White Thunder himself went to sleep right away. And the Hunter, with White Thunder’s words in his mind, fell asleep too, and dreamed of the dread Catawba from the south.
Aroas and White Thunder were up early, when the birds were first twittering and the wolves were slinking to their dens after the night’s hunt.
“Wake. You may come,” said White Thunder to Robert the Hunter, shaking him by the shoulder. “It is time.”
They crawled out of their own den, and climbed on top of the ledge. The top was flat and screened by low bushes. Here they lay, with the Hunter just behind.
The gloom of the forest gradually thinned. Birds began to flit. A raccoon passed, humping to his hollow tree. The dawn swiftly brightened. Squirrels chattered. Then one discovered the three persons upon the top of the ledge. He sat upon a branch and scolded angrily.
“Brother!” Aroas hissed. “Go! We mean you no harm.”
The squirrel only whisked hither and thither, still scolding, so that he disturbed the forest. White Thunder spoke to Robert.