"White Mink had faith in it. So will I," Timid Hare said to herself.
Many a time during the hard days with The Stone, she had repeated the
same words. It had always helped her to do so.
And now she turned in the direction she hoped was the village of the
Dahcotas, but her feet felt numb. It was hard to travel. Hark! what
was that? It seemed as though men's voices could be heard shouting to
each other in the distance. They came nearer. Could it be that Sweet
Grass had sent some of the village boys out after her?
Nearer! Nearer! Timid Hare stood still, listening. If they would
only hurry! She suddenly felt drowsy--the snow-chill was benumbing her
whole body, and somehow she no longer cared whether she was found or
not. She tottered, fell.
The next thing she knew, she was lying in the arms of a man with kind
blue eyes. He was smiling at her, and he was white! Another man,
white like himself, was rubbing her arms and legs.
"All right now," the first man was saying to the other. "Poor little
thing! How did she ever get out here? That Dahcota village is a good
dozen miles from here, and the child's moccasins tell that she is of
that tribe.
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