The visitors had all gone away and the village was once more
quiet--that is, as quiet as it might be among the Dahcotas, the lovers
of the dance and of music.

Now and then some of the braves went forth on a war-party, or on a hunt
after bears or buffaloes. But the buffaloes were scarce, they told
their chief; the herds must have wandered far, and the hunters often
returned empty-handed. This was bad, because the winter was drawing
near and supplies of meat were needed for that long season of bitter
cold.

One morning Bent Horn rose earlier than usual and made his way to the
council house. There he staid for some time talking with the medicine
men and other leading braves of the village.

Should there be a bear dance and a buffalo dance to call the attention
of the Great Spirit to the needs of His people, that He might send
plenty of prey nearer the village? Or should the band first move to a
different part of the country, where no red man dwelt and where the
buffaloes, at least, might be plentiful?

When the talk was ended the men who had gathered at the council went
their way. Bent Horn's mind was made up. "My people must move to a
new camping ground," he said to himself. "We will journey to the
eastward. In that direction, the hunters say, we are likely to draw
near the feeding grounds of large herds of buffaloes. Tomorrow morning
at sunrise we must be on our way."

[Illustration: Bent Horn's mind was made up.]