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toward a distant hillside. The boys followed in silence.
    By late afternoon Gray Owl had selected a likely spot, a clearing just above a small pond. He then secured his horse, assured himself the boys had done the same, and led the way through dense underbrush toward the edge of the clearing. Mastincala took note of how the wind stung his eyes. The Owl had brought them downwind so the elk wouldn't sniff their scent on the breeze.
    "Now we must make prayers," Hinhan Hota explained. He invoked Wakan Tanka to reward their devotion with fresh meat, and he offered the customary tobacco. Afterward the three hunters spread out patiently on the edge of the meadow and waited.
    Mastincala notched an arrow, but his fingers grew stiff and numb before he had occasion to draw back his bowstring. Louis had more patience. But Hinhan Hota seemed carved of stone. The chief watched with steady eyes as rabbits hurried by. Quail sang in a nearby thicket. Mastincala chewed a strip of buffalo hide and hoped the elk would come before his hair was white with age like He Hopa's.
    "Each thing in its time," Hinhan Hota had so often reminded his son. Well, elk tracks marked the pond as a favorite drinking spot. They said nothing of when or how often!
    Finally the elk appeared. There were five in all, and the Owl motioned toward a buck on the far right side. It was neither the eldest nor the youngest. Mastincala motioned that he understood. Then the boy drew back the string, held the bow steady, and took aim. He let fly the arrow, and it struck the elk in the throat. Hinhan Hota fired the instant the first elk collapsed.
    "He's not dead," Louis observed, pointing to how the first animal struggled to breathe as blood dripped down its neck. Mastincala handed over the bow, and Louis fired a second arrow through the elk's stout heart. The animal died instantly.
    The other elk had by now scattered, but two elk would provide what meat was needed. Hinhan Hota then suggested the hides would make fine winter coats, and Louis appeared especially pleased. An elk robe would mark him as a man to know among the wasicuns at the fort.
    Skinning the animals and packing the meat occupied the hunters until early dusk. The boys rode back to camp on the same horse. The other dragged a travois behind it with the meat. Mastincala noticed his father's proud gaze, and when the three of them entered the camp together, they were met with shouts and brave heart calls.
    "Hau, Mastincala! Rabbit has killed an elk!" the other boys exclaimed. "Hau, Hinkpila! Short Hair is blooded!"
    Mastincala gazed down at his fellows from the top of his horse and grinned. For once he was the tall one. Perhaps it was a brave heart that mattered most after all. He hoped so, for he enjoyed the good feeling.
    It was well that Hinhan Hota and the boys had killed the elk, for winter came early. In a fortnight, snows had packed the ground, and even the elk's tough hide couldn't fend off the bite of the frigid north wind. It was in this time of cold that Tasiyagnunpa went to the women's lodge to give birth.
    The Owl saw to it an old woman came to tend the lodge, for Wablosa had been killed at Ash Hollow. She was called Yellow Cow, and Mastincala judged her skin as hard and wrinkled as an old moccasin. Her tongue was sharp as a killing lance, though, and she enjoyed flaying her male charges with rawhide thongs. Gray Owl had left to pray for an easy birth, so Rabbit and Louis left Wicatankala to the care of Yellow Cow and sought the lodge of He Hopa.
    The medicine man welcomed the visit. Winter brought the old man pain, for his brittle fingers swelled, and his legs were bent by too many battle wounds. He had a pair of young women to cook and care for him, but he mostly grumbled at their slowness or complained they grew fat on his wasna.
    "It's well you've come, Mastincala," He Hopa declared as he huddled with the youngsters around a fire. "There is death on the wind. Your mother hurries a child into the