An’ now there was a whole-fear in the eyes of Yellow Face--a white fear that comes when a man sees Pau-guk, the Death, walk into the lodge; an’ the hand of Yellow Face trembled as he made ready his last third arrow on the bow. But in the eyes of the Feather shone no fear; only she lapped out her tongue like the snake does, with the black pleasure of new evil at the door. Moh-Kwa warned Strike Axe to look only at Yellow Face that he might be sure an’ swift as the loon to dive from the last arrow. Strike Axe did as Moh-Kwa counselled; an’ when the last arrow flew from the bow, Strike Axe with a big splash was safe an’ deep beneath the waters of the spring. “An’ now,” said Moh-Kwa to Strike Axe, “look in the glass an’ laugh, for a blessing of revenge has been bestowed on you through the Great Spirit.” Strike Axe looked an’ saw that not only did Yellow Face miss the log, but the arrow flew back an’ pierced the throat of Yellow Face, even up to the three eagle feathers on the arrow’s shaft. As Strike Axe looked, he saw Yellow Face die; an’ a feeling like the smell of new grass came about the heart of Strike Axe, for there is nothing so warm an’ sweet an’ quick with peace as revenge when it sees an’ smells the fresh blood of its enemy. Moh-Kwa told Strike Axe to still look in the glass; for while the danger was gone he would know what the Feather did when now that Yellow Face was killed by the turning of his own medicine. Strike Axe looked, an’ saw how the Feather dammed up the water in a little brook near the lodge; an’ when the bed of the brook was free of water the Feather dug a hole in the soft ground with her hands like a wolf digs with his paws. An’ the Feather made it deep an’ long an’ wide; an’ then she put the dead Yellow Face in this grave in the brook’s bed. When she had covered him with sand an’ stones, the Feather let the waters free; an’ the brook went back to its old trail which it loved, an’ laughed an’ ran on, never caring about the dead Yellow Face who lay under its wet feet. Then the Feather went again into the lodge an’ undressed the log of its blankets, belts an’ war-bonnet; an’ the Feather burned the bow an’ the arrows of Yellow Face, an’ made everything as it was before. Only now Yellow Face lay dead under the brook; but no one knew, an’ the brook itself already had forgot--for the brook’s memory is slippery an’ thin an’ not a good memory, holding nothing beyond a moment--an’ the Feather felt safe an’ happy; for her heart fed on evil an’ evil had been done. Strike Axe came out from the cave with Moh-Kwa, the Wise Bear. “You have given me life,” said Strike Axe. “You have given me honey,” said Moh-Kwa. Then Strike Axe was troubled in his mind, an’ he told Moh-Kwa that he knew not what he must do with the Feather when he returned. But Moh-Kwa said that he should make his breast light, an’ free his thought of the Feather as a burden, for one would be in his lodge before him with the answer to his question.