Furthermore, the tepee was empty,--no face looked out from any corner;
no voice spoke to the new-comers.

"Ugh!" The man shrugged his shoulders as he grunted in displeasure.
He was in haste to get to his own lodge where a supper of bear steak
was no doubt awaiting him.

"Where can The Stone be that she is not here, now that darkness covers
the earth?" he muttered. "And the crooked boy away too!"

The sentence was barely ended when the sound of quick, soft footsteps
could be heard outside. The Stone and her son, Black Bull, were
hurrying home. They had been gone all day, having gone to a clay pit
miles away from the village to get a certain clay for making red dye
with which The Stone wished to color some reeds for basket weaving.
Night had taken then by surprise, and wolves howling in the distance
made them travel as fast as the poor deformed youth could go.

[Illustration: The Stone and her son Black Bull were hurrying home.]

The Stone was the first of the two to enter the lodge. She was bent
and wrinkled, and her cunning, cruel eyes opened wide with surprise as
she saw her visitors.

"Ugh! what does this mean?" she asked sharply, as she looked from the
brave to the cowering child still held in his strong grip. "Are you
bringing a daughter of the pale-faces into my keeping?" She ended with
a wicked laugh.

"Not much better--it is a child of the Mandans who fell into my hands.