th hanging open.

"Lucky for Wolf Paw that Gray Cloud came when he did," Iron Knife said.
"I was getting an arrow ready for Wolf Paw." He jerked his head at the
bow slung over his shoulder.

"Even the son of Black Hawk?" She vividly remembered Wolf Paw's threats,
but the thought of Iron Knife murdering him horrified her.

"Do you think I'd let him drown my sister?" Iron Knife put an arm around
Gray Cloud's shoulders, bent down and picked him up under the knees,
bearskin cloak and all. Blowing a cloud of steam out of his mouth, he
straightened, cradling Gray Cloud in his arms. Though Gray Cloud was
nearly as tall as Iron Knife, he was much lighter.

It was Iron Knife, she realized, whose eyes she had felt on her after
Wolf Paw ran away.

They started off for the camp. She heard the voices of men and women
raised, calling to one another. Wolf Paw must have given the alarm.

"How did you know I was out here?" she asked. "You were sleeping when I
left the wickiup."

"Father woke me," Iron Knife said, striding stolidly along, his
calf-high outer moccasins of buffalo hide breaking through the snow. "He
knew what you were going to do. He told me to go after you, to see you
came to no harm."

As they plowed steadily onward, Redbird saw figures moving about in the
village. They must be terribly sleepy, she thought. Dawn was still a
long way off. Still, more and more people were running back and forth
among the wickiups. They were crowding in this direction, coming to meet
Gray Cloud and Iron Knife and Redbird. A mass of people, dark against
the moonlit snow.

In the front rank walked Owl Carver himself. The sacred necklace of
megis shells swung on his chest. In one hand he held his medicine stick,
a cedar staff decorated with feathers and beads, topped with the carved
head of an owl. His long white hair spread out over his shoulders.

She could hear a murmuring of voices, and above them, the shaman, her
father, singing:

"Let the people welcome him.
He has walked the spirit trail.
He comes back
From the sky,
From the water,
From under the earth.
He comes back from the seven directions.
Let the people welcome him."

Owl Carver was dancing as he approached them, a slow, heavy shuffle
alternating with sidesteps, his upper body rising and falling. His
hands, one holding his medicine stick, the other a yellow and red gourd
rattle, were lifted high over his head. The necklace of small