about the setting sun, they told of an approaching storm; so also spoke
the chill wind that blew in the child's face.

Fright clutched at Timid Hare's heart. She thought of the power of the
storm-king. Here, in the snowy wilderness, it seemed that she must
perish. Was there no one to turn to in this time of danger? Yes.

"Help me, Great Spirit," cried the child, lifting her hands towards the
sky where she believed He dwelt.

With that cry came a feeling that somehow her prayer would be answered.
And at the same time Timid Hare remembered the little sock which she
always carried in her bosom. She pressed a hand against the place
where it should rest. Yes, it was safe.

"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.