With these last words Swift Fawn lifted the little sock and was about to hurl it into the water, when she suddenly stopped as she remembered White Mink's last words. "I give this shoe into your keeping," the woman had said solemnly. "I have spoken because of my dream last night, and because of its warning I bid you keep the shoe always." With a little sigh, Swift Fawn drew back from the edge of the stream and replaced the shoe in the bosom of her jacket. Then she stretched herself out on the grassy bank and lay looking up into the blue sky overhead. How beautiful it was! How gracefully the clouds floated by! One took on the shape of a buffalo with big horns and head bent down as if to charge. But it was so far away and dreamlike it was not fearful to the child. And now it changed; the horns disappeared; the body became smaller, and folded wings appeared at the sides; it was now, in Swift Fawn's thoughts, a graceful swan sailing, onward, onward, in the sky-world overhead. The little girl's eyes winked and blinked and at last closed tightly. She had left the prairie behind her and entered the Land of Nod. She must have slept a long time, for when she awoke the sun had set, and in the gathering darkness, she was aware of a man's face with fierce dark eyes bent over her own. "Ugh! Ugh!" the man was muttering. "It is a daughter of the Mandans. A good prize!" As he spoke he rose to his feet and Swift Fawn, shaking with fear, knew that he was beckoning to others to draw near. A moment afterwards she was surrounded by a party of warriors. They were taller than the men of her own tribe, and were straight and noble in shape, but their faces were very stern. "They must belong to the 'Dahcotas,'" thought the child. "And they are our enemies." Many a tale had Swift Fawn heard of the fierce Dahcotas, lovers of war and greatly to be feared. It was a terrible thought that she was alone and in their power, with the night coming on. "Ugh! What shall we do with her?" the brave who had discovered her said to the others. "She is fair to look upon," replied one. "But she is a Mandan," was the quick answer of another. As he spoke he looked proudly at the scalp lock hanging from his shoulder, for he and his companions has just been out on the war path. "Let our Chief decide," said the first speaker. "It is best that Bent Horn should settle the question." "Ugh! Ugh!" grunted the others, not quite pleased at the idea. However, they said nothing more, and turned away, moving softly with their moccasined feet to the place where their horses were restlessly waiting to go on with the journey. Swift Fawn's captor now seized her hand, saying gruffly, "Get up." Dragging her to his horse's side, he lifted her up, bound her to the animal's back, leaped up after her and a moment afterwards the whole party were galloping faster and faster into the night.