When he went out, she was nowhere to be seen. He called her—he thought at first that she had hid herself. But, as night came on, and neither she nor the child returned, the deserted husband grew desperate; he could not stay in his lodge, and the only thing that he could do was to start in search of her.
He walked all night, but saw no trace of her. About sunrise he came to a stream, and following it up a little way he came to a beaver dam, and on it sat his wife with her child in her arms. And beautiful she looked, with her long tresses falling into the water.
Chaskè was delighted to find her. "Why did you leave me?" called he. "I should have died of grief if I had not found you."
"Did I not tell you that I could not live like the Dahcotah women?" replied Mocassin Flower. "You need not have watched me to find out what I eat. Return to your own people; you will find there women enough who eat venison."
The little boy clapped his hands with delight when he saw his father, and wanted to go to him; but his mother would not let him. She tied a string to his leg and told him to go, and the child would plunge into the water, and when he had nearly reached the shore where his father sat, then would the beaver-woman draw him back.
In the meantime the Dahcotah had been trying to persuade his wife to come to him, and return to the lodge; but she refused to do so, and sat combing her long hair. The child had cried itself to sleep; and the Dahcotah, worn out with fatigue and grief, thought he would go to sleep too.
After a while a woman came and touched him on the shoulder, and awaked him as of old. He started and looked at her, and perceiving it was not his wife, felt inclined to take little notice of her.
"What," said she, "does a Dahcotah warrior still love a woman who hates him?"
"Mocassin Flower loves me well," replied the Dahcotah; "she has been a good wife."
"Yes," replied the woman, "she was for a time; but she sighs to return home—her heart yearns towards the lover of her youth."