"Oh, Bluebird, my little dear one is dying! He is shot! He is shot!"
A moment later the bear fell over lifeless.
Elk flung himself upon his face in a passion of tears.
Bluebird took the bear's head between her hands and blew into his face. But he was past any aid in her power.
"Poor little thing!" she murmured, patting it gently down; "the white boy did not know who you were!"
Elk suddenly sprang to his feet. He looked across the dusky prairie to Fort Strong, where lights were beginning to twinkle, and shook his fist.
"Mean coward!" he shouted, menacingly. "I'll pay you back for this! You think because you belong to the strong white tribe that you can do whatever you choose! But I'll tell you that when a Cheyenne's heart gets bad he can find a way to revenge himself!"
"Oh, Elk, don't!" Bluebird laid her hand on her brother's arm. She looked entreatingly into his face, distorted with grief and anger. "I'm sure Yellow Stripe's boy didn't know he was your pet," she said.
"Didn't know? Didn't care!" retorted Elk.
He dropped upon his knees, and drawing the knife from the leather sheath hanging from his belt, began to dig at the darkening earth.