Regardless of his own recent eagerness to be at Muck-otey-pokee, and relating the day’s doings to an admiring circle of stay-at-homes, the young brave followed his leader. In a brief time they came up with a wild, high-spirited white horse, which rushed frantically from point to point in the vain hope of shaking from its back a burden to which it was not used.
“Souls of my ancestors! It is—the Snowbird!”
“It is the Sun Maid!” returned Black Partridge.
But for all his straining vision, White Pelican could not make out that it was indeed that wonderful child who was wrapped and bundled in the long blanket and lashed to the Snowbird’s back by many thongs of leather. Not until, by one dexterous swoop of his horsehair rope, the chief collared the terrified mare and brought her to her knees.
“Cut the straps. Set the child free.”
The brave promptly obeyed; while the chief, holding the struggling mare with one hand, carefully drew the Sun Maid from her swathing blanket and laid her across his shoulder. Her little figure hung limp and relaxed where it was placed, and he saw that she had fainted.
SNOWBIRD AND THE SUN MAID. Page [68].
“Take her to that row of alder bushes yonder. There should be water there. I’ll finish what has been begun, and prove whether this is a beast bewitched, or only a vicious mare that needs a master.”