Beside it squatted a noble-looking brave,
wrapped in a bear-skin robe, and with eagles'
feathers waving from the top of his head. Chains
of wampum hung around his neck and his face
was painted in long, bright lines.

Not far from him sat a beautiful and richly-dressed
young girl, his daughter. She looked
kindly at Swift Fawn as if to say: "Do not fear,
little girl."

"Behold, a child of the Mandans. I give her
into your hands, great Chief," said Swift Fawn's
captor to the brave by the fireside.

Bent Horn seemed in no hurry to speak, as
he looked keenly at the child who could not lift
her eyes for fear.

"Is the girl of the weak Mandans to live, or to
be a slave among our people?" asked the warrior.

Bent Horn was about to answer, as his
daughter broke in: "Father, let her live. I wish
it."

The Chief turned toward the young girl with
love in his eyes. He smiled as he said, "Sweet
Grass shall have her wish."