“Since you have saved my life,” he went on, “I want to give you a present. I know you want my roan colt. He is yours.”
Little Bear gave a choked gasp of pleasure. He had the bow Grandfather had made for him and now the young horse he wanted. He searched his mind for words with which to thank Flying Arrow. His glance moved to his grandfather. Great Bear was watching him intently. There was some question in Grandfather’s sober eyes, but Little Bear couldn’t decide what it was. He wished he could ask Grandfather. Then he remembered something Great Bear had told him about when it was proper to accept gifts from friends. Slowly he turned towards Flying Arrow.
“I thank you.” He spoke as gravely as Flying Arrow had. “I cannot accept my friend’s horse for doing what any Sioux should do. But if my friend should care to give me something he has made with his own hands, I would treasure it.”
A chorus of approval ran around the circle of warriors. Little Bear saw the pleased look on Great Bear’s face. He heard one of the warriors say, “Spoken like a Sioux warrior.”
Flying Arrow smiled at him.
“Sometime I will repay you, Little Bear,” he promised. “I see Great Bear has made you a bow. Take this quiver I made. May it always hold arrows that fly true!”
Flying Arrow took his quiver from around his neck. He tied his arrows with a thong and handed the quiver to Little Bear. It was a beautiful piece of leather. On it, Flying Arrow had carved a warrior chasing a buffalo. He had worked the top with beads. As soon as Flying Arrow had handed Little Bear the quiver, each of the warriors selected his straightest arrow and put it in the quiver.
As Little Bear was trying to find the right words to express his thanks, Flying Arrow glanced towards Great Bear.
“We must have buffalo fat for Great Bear’s wound,” the warrior said. “Bring one of the fat young buffalo we killed.”
“That was a large party of Pawnees,” Rain-Maker reminded him. “They may come back to attack us.”