at will pierce your hearts. These hunters are very near, and
once they see you they will shoot their arrows at you, and that is your
end."

"What must we do?" asked the animals. "You are wise, whispering grass;
tell us what we may do to save ourselves."

"Go to your homes," answered the grass, "and remain there until sundown
to-morrow. If all is safe, I shall send my messengers, the
butterflies, to you at that hour to tell you to come to me."

The animals did as they were commanded, and by the time the hunters
reached the foot of the hill, there was nothing living to be seen but
some dainty butterflies that hovered above the grass. The remainder of
that day and all the next the hunters searched for game in the hills,
but not a deer could they see, not a wolf, not a fox. In the late
afternoon they returned to their camp at the foot of the hill. They
were tired and very hungry, for they had not brought food with them, as
they expected to find game.

"Let us return," said one hunter. "There is no game in this land, and
I am hungry. Let us go back to our village."

"Not so," said the second hunter. "Let us wait until to-morrow.
Perhaps to-morrow we shall see game."

"Yes, let us wait until to-morrow," said a third hunter, "and to-night
we shall eat grass. See, yonder is a hill well covered with grass. If
the animals eat it, why can not we?"

"But it is whispering grass," said the first hunter, in a low voice.
"And he who eats of whispering grass can no longer kill anything with
his arrows."

"Not so, brother," said the second hunter. "It is not whispering
grass. Listen; there is a west wind blowing through it, and yet we can
hear no sound of whispering."

They all listened intently, and as the second hunter had said, there
was no sound of whispering. The wind was waving the grass blades and
bending them low, and not a sound came from them.

"You are right. It is not whispering grass," said the first hunter,
"and I am hungry; let us eat."

So they all gathered many handfuls of the green grass, and putting it
into a pot, they boiled it, then gathering around the pot, they ate the
grass with much relish. Then, rolling themselves in their deerskins,
they fell asleep.

It was now the sunset hour; so, calling the butterflies to it, the
whispering grass gave them a message for the animals.

"Go to your brothers," it said, "and tell them all is safe now; that at
sunrise to-morrow morning they may co