Chief Black Dog assigned two tepees to the party from Fort Dunwoody. Dick, Sandy and Toma took one, the mounted policemen the other. An hour later the boys watched the spy leave for Fort Good Faith, while the war drums of the tribe summoned the braves to battle.
It was an exciting evening the boys passed, watching the warriors in their fantastic dances. When at last they went to their tepee to rest, they were tired, but could not sleep. The wait for news from Fort Good Faith was proving to be a trying one. So near Sandy’s uncle, yet under orders to remain idle, the boys chafed and worried.
“I can’t stand it,” Sandy cried. “I want to get there and have it over with.”
“I know just how you feel,” sympathized Dick. “I want to smell powder too. But I believe the chief made a wise move, at that. What do you think, Toma?”
Toma’s dark face, lighted by the fire, brightened. “Him wise chief,” said Toma. “My father know him long ago when they hunt on Saskatchewan River.”
“Tell us a story about the old days, Toma,” Dick pleaded, as he squatted by the fire, “—an Indian story.”
“Yes, do,” Sandy chimed in.
The young guide seemed to be looking far away as he stared into the glowing coals. Outside, the war drums and the cries of the dancing warriors echoed in the forest aisles.
“I tell story my father tell me long ago, when I little boy,” Toma began. “Big medicine man tell my father. It is story of Saskatchewan River and Great Bear, mighty hunter of the Crees.
“Long ago, by Saskatchewan live big tribe. One hunter, one Great Bear, he mightier than all big hunters. Him not like Saskatchewan country. Him want travel far, far—where sun goes down.