surely. All the Dwellers in the Northland know that. Are
not all the Forest-Dwellers full-haired?"

"And this Fur Flower, A'tim; where is it?"

"Less than a day's trail," answered the Dog-Wolf.

"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."

"Eat of that--that which is the Death Grass growing in the Valley
of the Long Rest! You must wish to die; our Herd Leader, who was
even of your size, Great Bull, ate of it, and died like a
stricken Calf."

"What is this?" demanded Shag, his big, honest eyes turned on
A'tim with a wondering look of unbelief.

"A lie," quoth A'tim; "the Cow is full of a stupid duplicity:
perhaps she even killed this Herd Leader by some trick, and
blames it on the innocent Fur Flower. Does it lo