Snatching up a slender willow stick with his free left hand,
he started off with a hop and a leap. From side to side bounced
the bundle on his back, as he ran light-footed over the uneven
ground. Soon he came to the edge of the great level land. On the
hilltop he paused for breath. With wicked smacks of his dry
parched lips, as if tasting some tender meat, he looked straight
into space toward the marshy river bottom. With a thin palm
shading his eyes from the western sun, he peered far away into the
lowlands, munching his own cheeks all the while. "Ah-ha!" grunted
he, satisfied with what he saw.

A group of wild ducks were dancing and feasting in the
marshes. With wings outspread, tip to tip, they moved up and down
in a large circle. Within the ring, around a small drum, sat the
chosen singers, nodding their heads and blinking their eyes.

They sang in unison a merry dance-song, and beat a lively
tattoo on the drum.

Following a winding footpath near by, came a bent figure of a
Dakota brave. He bore on his back a very large bundle. With a
willow cane he propped himself up as he staggered along beneath his
burden.

"Ho! who is there?" called out a curious old duck, still
bobbing up and down in the circular dance.

Hereupon the drummers stretched their necks till they
strangled their song for a look at the stranger passing by.