"There is magic here," they cried. "We cannot fight against magic." And they aroused their band and fled, leaving everything behind them.
Then the victor sped with the fleetness of the deer to his own tribe. The men, waiting for the battle signal, followed him to the deserted camp. They returned laden with weapons, the finest of bows and arrows, spears, war bonnets, stores of food, and other spoils of war.
Joy spread among the people. In the village of wigwams feasting took the place of fear.
"I wish I had been that warrior," said Swift Elk.
"You may have a chance to be just as brave to-morrow," answered his mother. "I depend on you to take your father's place here if he goes into battle."
The children could keep awake no longer, but Good Bird did not close her eyes. The dawn came on, the sun rose, and there was no attack.
For many days and nights the young braves took their turn in watching. There were no further signs of an enemy, and no one ever found out how the strange feather came to be dropped near the camp.