And when the centre of the place of shade had cleared, she arose and walked into the centre. There she stood, a stately figure, with soft eyes fixed upon Wa-choo-bay. At length she raised her arms toward him and sang a low, droning song, like that a mother sings to her child in the evening when the fires burn blue. And all the people listened, breathless, for she was fair, and the song, which was a song of love, was sung to Wa-choo-bay alone, standing thin and tall and deep in thought. Then when her song had ceased, she took off her blanket of dyed buckskin, and, holding it at arm’s length toward Wa-choo-bay, she said: “I give my blanket to the tall and lonesome one. Let him come and take it, and I shall follow him on all his trails, even if they be hard trails that lead to death!” And Wa-choo-bay raised his eyes and gazed with a sad look upon the Ponca woman. His voice came strong, but soft: “I cannot take the blanket; neither shall I ever take a squaw. For I am a dreamer of dreams. I shall never hear _zhinga zhingas_ laughing about my lodge. I am going on a long trail, for I follow a dream. Yet have I never seen a woman so good to see. There is an ache in my breast as I speak. Let this woman follow one who kills enemies and hunts bison. I dream dreams, and a long trail is before me, and its end is in the mist.” Then Umba moaned and walked out of the circle with her head bowed. And Sky-Walker, seeing this, said: “It is even as I said. He was born in the time of the lone goose. He shall be alone, but high in loneliness; and he shall go far, far.” And the time came when the tribes took the homeward trail. Then one day Wa-choo-bay raised his voice among the people and said: “My time is come to go. I take a long, lonesome trail, for a dream dreamed many times is leading me.” Then he went down to the great river where a canoe lay, and the people followed. They said no word as he pushed the canoe into the current and shot downstream, for a white light was upon his face, and the dream rode with him. Then Sky-Walker and his old squaw climbed a high bluff and watched the speck that was Wa-choo-bay fading in the mist of distance. “This is the last I shall see,” said the old woman, “for I am old and the winter is in my hair. But great things will happen when I am gone.” And under the shade of a lean hand raised browward she saw the black speck vanish in the blue of distance. * * * * * Summers and winters passed. Sky-Walker and his old squaw died; the name of Wa-choo-bay became a dim and mystic thing. Yet often about the fires of winter, when the wind moaned about the lodges, the old men talked of the going away of the Holy One, making the eyes of the youths grow big with wonder. And often the old men and women gazed from the high bluff down the dim stretches of the muddy river, wondering when Wa-choo-bay would come back, for it was said that great things would happen at his coming.