managed to draw it out. Near by on the bar was a dry pine log, lodged there
by the high spring water. This he managed to roll into the stream; and,
partly resting on it, he again drifted down with the current. All night he
floated down the river, and when morning came he was far from the camp of
the Snakes. Benumbed with cold and stiff from the arrow wounds, he was glad
to crawl out on the bank, and lie down in the warm sunshine. Soon he slept.


III

The sun was already in the middle when he awoke. His wounds were swollen
and painful; yet he hobbled on for a time, until the pain became so great
he could go no further, and he sat down, tired and discouraged.

"True the signs," he said. "How crazy I was to go against them! Useless now
my bravery, for here I must stay and die. The widows will still mourn; and
in their old age who will take care of my father and my mother? Pity me
now, oh Sun! Help me, oh great Above Medicine Person! Look down on your
wounded and suffering child. Help me to survive!"

What was that crackling in the brush near by? Was it the Snakes on his
trail? Mik-a'pi strung his bow and drew out his arrows. No; it was not a
Snake. It was a bear. There he stood, a big grizzly bear, looking down at
the wounded man. "What does my brother here?" he said. "Why does he pray
to survive?"

"Look at my leg," said Mik-a'pi, "swollen and sore. Look at my wounded
arm. I can hardly draw the bow. Far the home of my people, and my strength
is gone. Surely here I must die, for I cannot travel and I have no food."