"He catches the arrows which are aimed at the birds and hides them. He puts slippery clay in the path and laughs when the children fall. No one can tell all his tricks of mischief."
"Grandmother, look! Here is an arrow on the ground."
"Let it be. We will not annoy the spirits. Now we must hurry home, for the clouds darken and I can hear the loud voices of the Thunderers starting out from their sky home."
BLACK WOLF TELLS A STORY
The boys were practicing with their bows and arrows. After a few trials, in which little skill was shown, Swift Elk threw down his bow. "I'm tired of shooting," he said. "Come on, boys, let's go to the lake for a swim."
Black Wolf, the oldest warrior of the tribe, was sitting on the ground near by, watching the sport.
"Do not give up," said the old man. "You are a big boy now. Only by skill in shooting can you become a brave warrior. Let no one know you are tired or weak. Remember the boy who was changed to the lone lightning of the North."
"Tell us the story," Swift Elk begged. "Then we will practice again and do our best."