"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 switch that she held in her
hand. "Something else may also help you to gain the spirit of a red
woman. Of that, by-and-by. And now you shall fetch me fresh water
from the spring. Black Bull, put yourself to some use. Show the girl
where the water may be drawn."
Handing an earthen crock to Timid Hare, she turned to her own
work--that of making dye out of the clay she had got the day before.
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