"Her hair is not black like ours," said another.

"Nor is her skin as dark. She is more like the pale-faces whom we
hate," remarked a third.

Then they turned to their play as if she were not worth noticing, and
poor little Timid Hare blushed for shame. It was hard indeed that even
the children should despise her.

A little farther on she noticed a group of men dancing together in the
sunlight. They were much taller than the Mandan braves, and noble to
look upon, as Black Bull had said. But to the little girl holding in
mind the capture of the day before, they seemed cruel and fearful even
now while they were dancing.

"The Dahcotas dance much--always," explained Black Bull, pointing to
the men. "We have many, many dances. For everything there is a dance.
When we feast, and before we hunt, when councils are held, when guests
come among us, we dance. It is a noble thing to dance. Sometimes," he
went on, "it is too make us laugh. Sometimes it is to make our faces
grow long--so!"

At this Black Bull's face took on a look of sadness as though he were
grieving.

Timid Hare was used to the dances of the Mandans, and she loved them.
But they were not so many as those of the Dahcotas, she felt sure.
Why, the night before, whenever she wakened, she heard the sound of
dancing in different lodges in the village.