"Find it for me, kind Brother," begged the Bull. "When one frightens those of his own kind it is time to try something."
As they plodded through the forest, A'tim muttered: "Now I shall surely have this vain old Bull. The Death Coulee is close to Porcupine Water, and that is not far. Shag shall eat of the Death Flower, which I have called the Fur Flower, to improve his appearance; and when he is dead I will eat of him to improve mine."
A three hours' tramp and they came to a little valley rich in bright yellow grass, topped by a stately plant that nodded and rustled in the wind as its many seed pods swayed like strings of dark pearls. It was the Monkshood, the deadly aconite, which, when the summer was young, hung its helmet flower in a shimmering veil of blue over the sweet grass of the Death Valley—the valley known of all animals as the Coulee of the Long Rest, for he who browsed there found his limbs bound in the steel cords of death.
"There," said A'tim, nodding his head at the bronze gold of the many Monkshood, "there is the Fur Flower. It will be dry eating now, being of a season's age, but in the early feed-time it is sweet and tender. While you eat of it I shall rest here."
A strong rustling of grass almost at their heels caused the Dog-Wolf to spring to his feet in alarm.
"Eu-h-h, eu-h-h! here is the accursed Cow again. Where in the name of Forest Fools have you come from—why do you follow us?" exclaimed A'tim.
"It is the way of my kind," she replied, "to follow a Herd Leader; there is no harm in that."
Into the big, sleepy eyes of Shag crept a pleased look.
"Where go you, Great Bull?" she asked.
"To eat of this Fur Flower my kind Brother, A'tim, has told me will bring back my coat; a soft, silky coat it was, too."