dy of the
Good Hunter in the forest. The Fox set out upon his search, in his foxy
way. He visited every hen-roost and every bird's-nest, but no scalp did
he find. "Of course not!" screamed the birds when he returned from his
fruitless quest, "Of course no bird has taken the Good Hunter's scalp.
You should have known better than that, Master Fox."

So the next time a bird was sent upon the search. The Pigeon Hawk went
forth, confident that she should be successful. But she was in such a
hurry and flew so fast that she saw nothing, and she too returned
without that for which she sought. Then the White Heron begged that he
might be allowed to try. "For," said he, "you all know how slowly I fly,
and how careful I am to see everything."

"Yes, especially if it be something good to eat," chirped the saucy Jay,
"do not trust him, birds, he is too greedy."

Yet the Heron was allowed to go. He flapped away, slowly and sedately,
and the Council sat down to await his return. But the Heron had not gone
far when he came to a field of luscious wild beans; and he stopped to
take a mouthful or two. He ate, and he ate, and he ate, the greedy
fellow! until he could eat no more. And then he was sleepy, so that he
slept and slept and slept. And when he awoke he was so hungry that he
fell to eating again, while the Council waited and wondered and waited.
At last they grew impatient and began to suspect that the Jay had been
right, which was indeed the case. They decided to wait no longer for the
Heron, who did not return. Then the Crow stepped forward and said, "Let
me go, I pray you, for I think I know where the scalp may be found; not
in the nest of a bird, not in the den of any animal, not in the watery
haunt of a fish. For all the creatures of earth, air, and water are
friends of the Good Hunter. It is men who are most cruel to men:
therefore in the tents of men must we look for the missing scalp. Let me
go to seek it there, for men are used to see me flying near and will not
suspect why I come."

The Crow flew forth upon his errand, and before long came to the wigwam
where lived the warrior who had slain the Good Hunter. And sure enough,
there, outside the tent, was the scalp of the Good Hunter, stretched on
a pole to dry. The Crow flew near, and the warrior saw him, but thought
nothing of it, for he was used to seeing crows about the camp. Presently
when no one was looking the skillful thief managed to steal the scalp,
and away he