“These things I learned from the great medicine-men of the white-faced race, and they are wise men,” said Wa-choo-bay. “It is this that has made their people great. So I have come to say: Have no more fighting on the prairie; be one great tribe, even like the white-faces; build great villages like them, for I have learned that only they who build great villages and do not wander shall live. The others must flee like the bison when hunters follow. “And I will teach you the wise words of the great white Wakunda’s Son, who died because he loved all the tribes. It is a teaching of peace—a teaching that we be kind to our enemies.” Then there arose one among the Osages, an old man, and he said: “These are big words. Let Wa-choo-bay call down rain upon us if this big white God loves him.” Then arose one among the Pawnees, and he cried in broken Omaha: “I say with my Osage brother, let Wa-choo-bay do some medicine-deed, that we may know him for a holy one.” And still another among the Poncas arose and said: “If this be true that we have heard, how Wa-choo-bay came back in a holy boat, and that his big white Wakunda is so strong and loves Wa-choo-bay, let him send the rain, and we will fall upon our faces.” Then the whole concourse of tribes sent up a shout: “Give us some medicine-deed!” And when the shout had died, Wa-choo-bay smiled a smile of pity and said: “I am not the big white Wakunda; I am only one who talks for Him and loves Him, for I have seen a new light. I can do no medicine-deeds. Neither can anyone among you do medicine-deeds. It is all a dreaming—and we must awaken.” Then there was a great crying, an angry storm of voices about the hill. It beat upon the bleak summit where Wa-choo-bay stood with face and hands raised to the heavens, breathing a prayer of the white-faces. There was a breaking up of the concourse and a walking away. But one among the people hurled a stone with sure aim and struck Wa-choo-bay upon the side of the face. He staggered, and the blood came. But he showed no anger. Turning the other side of his face, he said: “Let him who threw the stone throw again and strike me here. Even so the great white Wakunda’s Son suffered.” But the second stone was not cast, and Wa-choo-bay was left alone with the wolf upon the summit, kneeling and muttering words of kindness. The day passed, and still he knelt upon the summit. But when the dark had fallen, he became aware of someone near him. He raised his head and saw in the starlight a woman lying upon her face before him, and she was moaning. Wa-choo-bay lifted her and looked into her face. It was a face that he had known of old, only the winters had changed it. “I am Umba, the Ponca woman,” she said. “Many summers ago I spoke to you. Do you remember?” And Wa-choo-bay said: “I have not forgotten.”