They rode into a country which was even rougher than that behind them. There were narrow valleys surrounded by steep hills. Great Bear kept at an almost straight course, as though he were sure of the route they were to follow. Every time they started up a hill, Great Bear rode ahead. Then he would dismount and walk in front of his horse. At the top of each hill he would look back and make sure no Pawnees were in sight before he would signal Little Bear to bring the horses across the top of the hill. When the sun was straight overhead, Great Bear halted beside a small stream.
“We are safe now.” He smiled. “The Pawnees will not dare follow us farther into Sioux hunting grounds.”
Little Bear toppled off his horse and stretched out on the ground. He hadn’t believed anyone could get so tired riding a horse. Grandfather stretched out beside him.
“We have been successful enough that we can return to the main camp proudly,” Great Bear exclaimed happily.
“Aren’t we going to try to catch that Crow?” Little Bear asked.
Great Bear shook his head.
“You have two good horses,” he pointed out. “I am sure Flying Arrow will trade you the roan colt for either of them.”
“I suppose he will,” Little Bear agreed. “And you have two good horses, but I don’t believe either of them is as good as your buffalo horse the Crow took.”
“We should return to the main camp,” Great Bear insisted. “We have won a victory over the Pawnees. That is enough.”