the greatest
warrior of us all when the bears came, and his deeds stand first."

Then up spoke the messenger, Roka, also.

"It is true," he said. "I witnessed with my own eyes the great deeds of
Waditaka. Our chief, Xingudan, must be proud to have such a brave and
wise young warrior in his village."

The two talked later on about the matter and Roka fully agreed with
Xingudan that the command of Heraka should be disregarded. Red Cloud,
the great Mahpeyalute, would support them in it and, in any event, it
was quite sure that the village itself would not allow it.

Will did not awake until the afternoon, and then he yawned and stretched
himself a minute or two between the warm covers before he opened his
eyes. He saw a low fire of big coals burning in the centre of the lodge,
neutralizing the intensely cold air that came in where the door of the
lodge was left open for a foot or more.

He surmised from the angle of the sun's rays that the day was far
advanced. Pemmican, strips of venison and some corn cakes lay by the
edge of the fire and he knew that good old Inmutanka had left them there
for him. He began to feel hungry. He would rise in a few minutes and
warm the bread and meat by the fire, but he first listened to a chant
that came from the outside, low at first, though swelling gradually. His
attention was specially attracted, because he caught the sound of his
own name in a recurring note. At length he made out the song, something
like this:

Lo, in the night the great bears came
Our horses they would crush and devour.
Mighty were they in their size and strength
And hunger fierce and terrible drove them on.
Bullets we had none, only the edge of steel and bone,
But the fires of Waditaka filled their souls with fear,
Waditaka, the wise, the brave son of Inmutanka,
Without him our herd would have been lost, and we, too.

Waditaka, the valiant and wise, showed us the way.
Young, but his arrow sings true, his lance strikes deep,
Waditaka, the thoughtful, the bold, the son of Inmutanka,
Proud we are that he belongs to us and fights for us.

Young Clarke lay back between the buffalo covers. The song, crude though
it was, and without rhyme or metre in the Indian fashion, gave him a
strange and deep thrill. It was in just such manner that the Greeks
chanted the praises of some hero who had saved them from great disaster,
or who had done a mighty deed against dragons.