The day had ended when Running Fox finally arrived at the appointed rendezvous. He approached the spot with high hopes. At each stride he expected to hear the familiar signal from his friend. When he failed to hear it, he stopped and again whistled the notes of the white-throated sparrow. Then he waited, straining his ears for the reply. There was no answer, however, and Running Fox gave way to despair. He needed no further proof. He was sure that Spotted Deer had fallen into the hands of his foes. As he pictured his plight, Running Fox blamed himself for not continuing the search. He feared he had lost the chance of saving Spotted Deer. Running Fox knew only too well the hatred which the Mohawks held for his people, and he felt sure that they would lose little time in taking vengeance upon the unfortunate young captive. The thought drove him to distraction. He determined to return at once to the distant mountain range, and continue the search until he found the Mohawks and learned the fate of his friend. However, his strength was unequal to the task, for two days of forced traveling had completely exhausted him. He realized, therefore, that it would be folly to attempt to do anything further until he had recovered from his exertions.
Night had already closed down, and the disconsolate young warrior threw himself upon the ground, and moaned out his grief for his friend. At intervals he roused himself, and sat up to listen. More than once he fancied he heard a cautious footfall near at hand, or a faint signal farther away, and his heart bounded wildly. Each, time, however, his imagination played him false, and his hope gave way to deeper despair. At other times he imitated the call of the little red owl. It was a favorite signal which he and Spotted Deer had used since their first hunting expedition, and his heart ached as it went unanswered. Then his tortured brain finally sought relief in sleep.
The sun was shining when Running Fox awakened. As he opened his eyes, and sat up, he exclaimed with surprise. Spotted Deer was seated within bow-length of him.
“Yes, I am here,” laughed Spotted Deer, as Running Fox continued to stare at him in speechless amazement.
“I cannot believe what I see,” stammered Running Fox, as he moved over to Spotted Deer and seized his hand. “Well, now I see that you are not a ghost. How did you get here?”
“I came to this place while it was dark,” explained Spotted Deer. “Then I gave the call of the little red owl. I did that many times, but no one answered. Then I moved around looking for you. At last I found you. At first I was frightened, for I thought you were dead. When you did not move I touched you. You did not feel it. Then I shook you. You did not feel that either. Then I got frightened again. Well, I stooped over and listened. I heard your breath. That made me feel good. Then I said, ‘I will sit here beside him, and pretty soon he will open his eyes and see me.’ Well, you kept on sleeping, and pretty soon I fell asleep. When it grew light I opened my eyes. Then I waited. Now you see me.”
Running Fox spent some moments in silent meditation. He was greatly disturbed at what Spotted Deer had told him. He realized that utter exhaustion had placed him at the mercy of any foe who might have happened along. The thought worried him. He felt ashamed of his weakness.
“Spotted Deer, I see you here alive—it is enough,” Running Fox declared, warmly. “I believed that the Mohawks had caught you. Now I see that you have escaped. I am feeling good again. But I must tell you that I am troubled about something else. You say that you came up and took hold of me. That is bad. A good war-leader would not let that happen. I do not know how it happened, but I feel bad about it.”
“Running Fox, you must not talk that way,” replied Spotted Deer. “Perhaps it will never happen again. You were very tired.”
Then Running Fox told of his exhausting search to find him, and Spotted Deer instantly understood the reason for the helpless condition in which he had found him.