The sun had risen and, to Bent Arrow’s anxious eyes, seemed to be racing up the sky. By this time Flying Arrow would have returned to camp. He would wait for a time, but when Bent Arrow failed to return, Flying Arrow would come to look for him.
Finally Bent Arrow decided that he must take the risk. He crept out of his hiding place and slipped away from the river, keeping near the trail. When he was far enough back from the stream so that no watcher on the other side could see him, he crossed the trail and started back toward the river. He moved carefully. Before he took a step, he glanced ahead to make sure he could avoid touching any branches. When he came near the deer, he dropped to his hands and knees. He crawled the remaining distance.
The deer had fallen in such a way that a clump of brush hid it from the other side of the river. However, it was so close to the brush that it seemed impossible for Bent Arrow to move it without stirring the branches. Carefully he inched the deer away from the brush. He got it away from the brush without causing the branches to move noticeably. It was a long, tedious task, dragging the deer and avoiding the brush and shrubs, but at last Bent Arrow got it to a place well enough hidden that he could lift it to his shoulders.
Instead of going straight toward the camping place, Bent Arrow went due north. When he was at a point directly west of the camp, he hung the deer on a low tree branch. Then he went toward camp.
He had covered about half the distance to the camp, when he caught a slight movement directly ahead of him. He stopped and slowly brought his bow into position.
“It’s all right, Bent Arrow,” Flying Arrow called softly, stepping into view.
Bent Arrow quickly ran to his uncle.
“I have a deer,” he said, “and I saw a Sioux warrior.”
“We’ll get our horses and move farther away before we talk more,” Flying Arrow decided.
