But soon, well suckled by the she-goat, he began to grow amazingly. First he found his legs, and was able to go wabbling after his foster mother as she lonesomely circled the corral. Next, the wabble became a stout little trot. And now the Old Woman found no need of holding him up for his dinner. The goat, when heavy with milk, stood without being tied, and even _uh-uh-uhed_ to him invitingly if he was slow to come; while he had so lengthened and heightened that he was able to drink without aid. He gave over the olla-like basket, therefore, and the corral became his home. Here he showed an increasing love for the she-goat by yelping mournfully if she started off down the enclosure, and by barking in noisy delight at her return. The squaw still saw him often, and stroked him much so that he might not become hand shy. Changed in looks he was by now. The black-tipped nose was longer and more pointed; the greyish amber eyes were paler and narrowed in their slits; the head was flat; the ears were upright; the hair was not downy, but coarse to wiriness, blackish and brindled along the back and mane, striped burro-wise across the shoulders, elsewhere of a dusty, sunburned, tawny grey. With his change in looks there came a change in appetite. He began to crave other food than milk, when the Old Woman gave him to eat of wafer bread and let him lap from a gourd shell filled from her wicker water bottle. Later, the she-goat having gone dry, and there being no second foster mother for him, she fed him with other things--the bean of the mesquite and the sweetish fruit of the prickly pear. One day, he tasted blood. The squaw brought him in a linnet, all plump and juicy beneath its feathery coat. He lay down, holding the tiny thing between his forefeet, and tore at it greedily, with little throaty growls. When he was finished, she tried to pull away the bits of plumage caught in his paws. And for the first time he showed his teeth. Then the Boy came. Having got the man scent before he reached the hogan, the young prairie wolf was not frightened at the stranger whose blanket was as bright with stripes as the Old Woman’s, and who was otherwise very like her in appearance--except that a gay banda kept back the hair from his forehead. On the other hand, the Boy was startled as, on entering the low hut, he saw two eyes burning out at him from a dim corner. “What is it?” he asked the Old Woman, speaking in the Navajo tongue. “It is Little Watcher,” she answered. “For so I have named him. The kids were all stolen away by night. When I prayed to Those Above, I was bidden to do what my father had done--fight poison with poison.”