s he rested on the everlasting hill,
listening to the prayers of Indian warriors. Before the finding of the
magic arrow he had sat there.

Now, as Iktomi prayed and wept before the great-grandfather, the sky in
the west was red like a glowing face. The sunset poured a soft mellow
light upon the huge gray stone and the solitary figure beside it. It
was the smile of the Great Spirit upon the grandfather and the wayward
child.

The prayer was heard. Iktomi knew it. "Now, grandfather, accept my
offering; 'tis all I have," said Iktomi as he spread his half-worn
blanket upon Inyan's cold shoulders. Then Iktomi, happy with the smile
of the sunset sky, followed a footpath leading toward a thicketed
ravine. He had not gone many paces into the shrubbery when before him
lay a freshly wounded deer!

"This is the answer from the red western sky!" cried Iktomi with hands
uplifted.

Slipping a long thin blade from out his belt, he cut large chunks of
choice meat. Sharpening some willow sticks, he planted them around a
wood-pile he had ready to kindle. On these stakes he meant to roast the
venison.

While he was rubbing briskly two long sticks to start a fire, the sun in
the west fell out of the sky below the edge of land. Twilight was over
all. Iktomi felt the cold night air upon his bare neck and shoulders.
"Ough!" he shivered as he wiped his knife on the grass. Tucking it in a
beaded case hanging from his belt, Iktomi stood erect, looking about.
He shivered again. "Ough! Ah! I am cold. I wish I had my blanket!"
whispered he, hovering over the pile of dry sticks and the sharp stakes
round about it. Suddenly he paused and dropped his hands at his sides.

"The old great-grandfather does not feel the cold as I do. He does not
need my old blanket as I do. I wish I had not given it to him. Oh! I
think I'll run up there and take it back!" said he, pointing his long
chin toward the large gray stone.

Iktomi, in the warm sunshine, had no need of his blanket, and it had
been very easy to part with a thing which he could not miss. But the
chilly night wind quite froze his ardent thank-offering.

Thus running up the hillside, his teeth chattering all the way, he drew
near to Inyan, the sacred symbol. Seizing one corner of the half-worn
blanket, Iktomi pulled it off with a jerk.

"Give my blanket back, old grandfather! You do not need it. I do!" This
was very wrong, yet Iktomi did it, for his wit was not wisdom. Drawing
the blanket t