Little Bear had heard no sound from the tepee, but there was Grandfather standing beside him. They had stood together for only a few breaths when the rider raced into view.
“It’s Flying Antelope,” Great Bear exclaimed.
It was Flying Antelope, one of the hunters, charging into camp as though the whole Pawnee nation were chasing him. The other two warriors who had stayed in camp came hurrying towards them as Flying Antelope pulled his horse to a sliding stop.
“The Pawnees have our hunting party cornered in Buffalo Trap Canyon,” Flying Antelope gasped. “I must ride to the main camp for help.”
“It is a long journey,” Great Bear protested. “Help will be too late.”
“It is my only chance,” Flying Antelope insisted.
Great Bear looked at the other two warriors. They shook their heads. They had no other plan to offer.
“Then you must have a fresh horse,” Great Bear decided. “Little Bear, bring one of my horses for Flying Antelope.”
Almost before Great Bear had finished speaking, Little Bear was racing up the hill towards the meadow where the horses were grazing. As soon as he crossed the hill, he slowed to a walk. He didn’t want to startle the horses. He gave a low, shrill whistle. His own horse raised its head. When Little Bear repeated the whistle, the horse started towards him. He noticed that Flying Arrow’s roan colt took a few steps towards him, and he thought how easily the colt could be trained.
In a moment Little Bear had mounted his own horse. It took him only a short time to catch one of Grandfather’s horses. Then, sure that Great Bear would want a horse for his own use, he caught another one.