HUNTING WILD DUCKS
Swift Elk had sharpened his arrows and taken his strongest bow from the wooden peg over his bed.
"I have seen wild ducks flying by the lake," he said. "I am going to hide in the long grass and watch for them. If they come again, they shall feel my arrows. To-night we eat roast duck."
The boy ran toward the lake. His sister, White Cloud, watched him until he was out of sight. "Why can't girls go hunting?" she said. "I have seen seven winters. I shall follow his trail."
The child ran along, hiding behind trees and bushes, and stepping softly so that no broken twig could tell of her approach.
Indian children can see farther and hear far better than we can. Although the old-time Indian never went to school, yet he trained his children to listen to every sound in the forest, and to notice all signs of animal life.
When White Cloud was near the lake, she hid in a clump of bushes and watched. Just in sight was a little stream winding through the low meadow.
She saw Swift Elk run along its banks. She waited without moving—waited as only an Indian child knows how to wait.
At last, far off, she saw a speck in the sky, then another and another. The specks grew larger. She held her breath.