At this Black Bull's face took on a look of sadness as though he were grieving.
Timid Hare was used to the dances of the Mandans, and she loved them. But they were not so many as those of the Dahcotas, she felt sure. Why, the night before, whenever she wakened, she heard the sound of dancing in different lodges in the village.
"There is the spring. Now I go," said Black Bull, pointing it out half-hidden in a hollow shaded by clumps of bushes. The youth, with Smoke who had followed close at his heels ever since leaving the lodge, turned back and Timid Hare stooped down to fill the crock.
As she did so her eyes met a pair of large black ones fastened upon her own, and just above the water's edge. They belonged to the chief's only son Young Antelope, who had come for a drink of cool water before going off on a hunting trip. He was a handsome youth. As he lay stretched out on the grassy bank above the spring he had heard the sound of Timid Hare's steps as she drew near, and looked up to see who it was.
"Oof! the stranger," he said, but he did not scowl like the little girls whom the little captive had passed a few minutes before.
The next minute he had sprung to his pony's back and gone galloping away. Timid Hare thought sadly of the dear foster-brother far away on the wide prairie, as she trudged back with her load to the tepee where The Stone awaited her.
THE CHANGE
"Bad," scolded the squaw as she looked into the crock and saw that some of the water had been spilled on the way home.
She reached for her willow switch and used it twice on Timid Hare's back.