Soon the fire was blazing, and the two boys settled down to a delicious meal of roast rabbit. When they had finished their dinner they rolled up in their blankets and were soon asleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, for they were determined to track down some large game and make their kill, for their supplies were running low and they must start the return trip to the village the following afternoon.
The night passed without incident and when the dawn broke it was raining slightly. The two boys looked at the heavens frowning, but in about a half hour the sky had cleared and the sun shone through again.
The boys started off for the woodland and their big game hunt. They had not gone very far when Running Dog glanced up toward the high rock formations. He did not know what caused him to look in that direction, but suddenly he stopped and called to White Cloud who had been riding a little ahead, anxious to reach the woods.
“Wait, White Cloud. Look, look to the north, beyond that formation of rocks.”
White Cloud turned and gazed in the direction Running Dog pointed. There rising above the rock formation were puffs of smoke. “Maybe it is the campfire of another hunting party, Running Dog?”
“No,” said Running Dog, “that is not campfire, those are Kiowa smoke signals. I will try to make them out.”
“Are you sure they are Kiowa smoke signals, Running Do?”
“Oh yes, White Cloud, many moons ago my father taught me of the Kiowa smoke signals. Though all tribes use this method the Kiowas have a definite series of signals before their message. Look, White Cloud. See that series of short puffs of smoke? That is peculiar only to the Kiowas. Let me see if I can make out what they are sending.”
The two boys sat astride their ponies watching the signals of smoke rise in the distance. Running Dog studied the signals as diligently as he could and seeking back into his memory for everything his father had taught him about smoke signals.
Then he turned to White Cloud, “Come, my friend, we must hurry. Those signals are to a band of Kiowas to the south that we are here in their hunting grounds and therefore have broken the law of the Kiowa and must die. They are calling to this band to bring our scalps on their war lances triumphantly to the village. We must hurry, White Cloud. There is no telling how long that message has been playing in the sky. We did not notice it until now but that does not mean that it has not been sent before just now. We must ride to camp and take our other horse and start for home.”