away from himself!

"You see," said War Eagle, as he reached for his pipe, "OLD-man knew
that he had done wrong, and his heart troubled him, just as yours will
bother you if you do not listen to the voice that speaks within
yourselves. Whenever that voice says a thing is wicked, it is
wicked--no matter who says it is not. Yes--it is very hard for a man
to hide from himself. Ho!"

OLD-MAN'S TREACHERY

The next afternoon Muskrat and Fine Bow went hunting. They hid
themselves in some brush which grew beside an old game trail that
followed the river, and there waited for a chance deer.

Chickadees hopped and called, "chick-a-de-de-de" in the willows and
wild-rose bushes that grew near their hiding-place; and the gentle
little birds with their pretty coats were often within a few inches of
the hands of the young hunters. In perfect silence they watched and
admired these little friends, while glance or smile conveyed their
appreciation of the bird-visits to each other.

The wind was coming down the stream, and therefore the eyes of the boys
seldom left the trail in that direction; for from that quarter an
approaching deer would be unwarned by the ever-busy breeze. A rabbit
came hopping down the game trail in believed perfect security, passing
so close to Fine Bow that he could not resist the desire to strike at
him with an arrow. Both boys were obliged to cover their mouths with
their open hands to keep from laughing aloud at the surprise and speed
shown by the frightened bunny, as he scurried around a bend in the
trail, with his white, pudgy tail bobbing rapidly.

They had scarcely regained their composure and silence when, "snap!"
went a dry stick. The sharp sound sent a thrill through the hearts of
the boys, and instantly they became rigidly watchful. Not a leaf could
move on the ground now--not a bush might bend or a bird pass and escape
being seen by the four sharp eyes that peered from the brush in the
direction indicated by the sound of the breaking stick. Two hearts
beat loudly as Fine Bow fitted his arrow to the bowstring. Tense and
expectant they waited--yes, it was a deer--a buck, too, and he was
coming down the trail, alert and watchful--down the trail that he had
often travelled and knew so well. Yes, he had followed his mother
along that trail when he was but a spotted fawn--now he wore antlers,
and was master of his own ways. On he came--nearly to the brush that
hid the hunters, when, th