that may not be," Timid Hare told herself. "My dear father
would himself meet death at the hands of these cruel warriors."

The rent in the curtain was nearly sewed up when Black Bull stole into
the lodge. He wanted to talk to the little stranger with eyes sad like
his own, and he did not wish his mother to know it.

Behind Black Bull came his dog, wolfish-looking like most of his breed,
but as Black Bull squatted in his corner, the animal crouched close at
his master's side as though he loved him.

"Poor fellow, he has a pet to follow him about just as I had at home,"
thought Timid Hare. "Perhaps by-and-by the dog may learn to love me
too." There was a big lump in the little girl's throat, and she
coughed as she tried to choke it back.

"Hard work," said Black Bull as he watched her pulling the coarse
thread through the buffalo skin and trying not to tear it. "Hard
work," he repeated. "Too bad."

Timid Hare nodded. "Good dog," she ventured after a while, looking at
the dog with a sad little smile. "I had a dog; I loved him," she added.

"Very good dog. He is my friend," replied the youth. "He goes with me
everywhere--everywhere. He makes me--not lonely. I call him Smoke."

Black Bull put his arm lovingly around Smoke's neck and the dog whined
softly. It was the only way in which he could say, "I love you, poor
master, if no one else does."

"My people are great people," Black Bull went on. "They are very
strong." Timid Hare nodded. "The Dahcotas are brave above all men.
Their bands are so many I could not count them." The very thought of
counting a large number made the simple-minded youth look puzzled.
"And they are tall and strong of body beyond the red men of all tribes."

Again Timid Hare nodded. But she also shuddered as she thought that
she was in their power, a helpless captive. Then, as her eyes turned
towards Black Bull, they filled with pity. Here was one of the
Dahcotas, at least, who was not strong and tall and well-shaped. Nor
would he do her harm, she felt sure.

Black Bull had turned to his lute which lay on the floor behind him and
begun to play a low, sweet tune when The Stone entered the lodge. She
looked sharply at Timid Hare, and then at the work which the little
girl had just finished.

"Ugh! Ugh!" grunted the squaw. "You must learn to sew better than
that, you little cringing coward. Ah, ha! I know something that may
help you." The Stone cut the air with a sw