"Stay where you are," cautioned White Otter. "We will find out about it."
Little Raven heard the ponies snorting nervously, as his friends rode forward to investigate. Then he heard one of the cubs whining. Some one shot an arrow. The cub became quiet. A moment afterward White Otter called him.
"Come down, my brother, Ma-to-ho-ta and her babies are dead," he said.
"I was like a feeble old man," Little Raven cried, angrily, as Sun Bird gave him the lariat of the runaway pony. "That horse fooled me."
"It is bad," said White Otter. "If the Pawnees came here instead of Ma-to-ho-ta they would have run off that pony."
They picketed the ponies, and went to examine the bear. It was unusually large, but thin, and poor in fur, as usual at that season. Little Raven cut off the claws and shared them with his companions. They fastened them to their rawhide belts. Then White Otter cut open the carcass and drew out the heart. He divided it into three portions, and they ate it. It was an old custom of their people, and they believed that it would give them the strength and courage for which Ma-to-ho-ta was famous.
The night passed without further alarm, and at the first signs of dawn the Sioux rode away to search for the Cheyennes. Red Dog had told them that the hunters proposed to go a day's journey to the southward, and then circle about the plain until they discovered the buffalo herd.
"Well, they must be close by," declared Little Raven.
"We must try hard to find them," White Otter told him.
His mind was filled with distressing possibilities concerning the people in the Cheyenne village. Had the Kiowas made an attack? Had Red Dog and his warriors beaten them off? White Otter feared to hope.