"Bear! Bear! Our Netawis has found bear!" cried two small urchins who had been rolling and tumbling with the dogs and almost burning their toes at the edges of the fire. They were the children of Azoka's elder sister Seeu-kwa, Muskingon's widow. Scrambling past Menehwehna, who never spoke harshly to them, and paying no heed to their mother's scolding, they ran out into the snow to carry the news to the other lodges. "Our Netawis has found bear!" "What news is this?" asked some of the young men who lived in a lodge apart--the bachelors' lodge--gathering round the doorway. "Seeu-kwa, look to it that your children do not grow up to be little liars." Now John, surprised to find his news so important, had turned to Azoka with a puzzled smile. The firelight which danced on his face danced also on the long bead necklace heaving like a snake with the rise and fall of her bosom. He stared down at it, and Azoka--poor girl--felt his wrist trembling under her touch; but it was with the thought of another woman. She caught her hand away; and John, looking up, saw a young Indian, Ononwe by name, watching him gloomily from the doorway. "Ask Netawis to tell the story," said Menehwehna. So John told it again, and added that it had been difficult to call the dogs away from the tree. "But about the bear I say nothing; that is Menehwehna's talk. I only tell you what I saw." "The wind has fallen," said one, "and soon the moon will be up. Let us go and prove this tale of Netawis." Meshu-kwa opposed this, calling it folly. "We have no axes heavy enough for tree-cutting," she said; not giving her real reason, which was that she came of a family which claimed descent from a bear. When they mocked at her she said, "Also--why should I hide it?--there came to me an evil dream last night." "This is the first that I have heard of your evil dream," answered Menehwehna, and gave order that after supper Netawis should lead the party to the tree, promising that he himself would follow as soon as the sickness left him. At moonrise, therefore, they set out--men and women together, and even the small children. But Menehwehna called Azoka back from the door of the lodge. "My daughter," he asked, they two being left alone, "has Ononwe a cause of quarrel against Netawis?" "They are good friends," Azoka answered innocently. "Ononwe never speaks of Netawis but to praise. Surely my father has heard him?" "That is returning a ball I never flung," her father said, fixing grave eyes on her, under which she flinched. "I am thinking that the face of Netawis troubles the clear water that once was between you and Ononwe. Yet you tell me that Ononwe praises him. Sit down, therefore, and hear this tale." Azoka looked rebellious; but no one in his own household disobeyed Menehwehna--or out of it, except at peril.