One evening some of the older chiefs were seated around the fire smoking and talking to pass the evening hours away when their attention was called to Chief Running Dog, one of the older chiefs of the tribe, who had been sitting quietly in the circle not saying much but gazing off into the night as if he were looking for something. Twisted Wolf spoke. “What do you look for, friend Running Dog? Do you see something in the distance with those old eyes that the rest of us should be looking for?” “No, Twisted Wolf, I do not look for anything in the present, but rather I am looking far into the past, to a time when I was just a small boy and there had been peace and happiness in our tribe for many years.” “Why should you think about the past now, old one? Is there something particular that you are trying to recall?” Running Dog laughed, “Oh, I do not have to think too hard to recall what I want to think about. Something happened when I was a young boy that I shall long remember. Some of you should remember this one adventure too, for some of you were just about my age at the time.” “Tell us,” they cried, “tell us what adventure you recall as a boy.” “Well,” said Chief Running Dog, “the story I remember is one which my father liked to call the Race of Death. But I do not want to bore you with tales of my childhood. They are only memories of an old man who lives in a world of dreams.” “Now, Running Dog, do you want us to coax you? I have never known you to need prompting to tell a story. Why do you need coaxing at this time?” “Well, it is not a funny story and to me at the time it was not a very nice experience to go through. Just recalling it brings back some of the fears which filled my heart at the time. But, if it is your desire, then I shall tell you the story. Fill your pipes and settle back, because it is quite a long story and we will be here at the fire for some time until I have finished. But remember that I warned you. If you get bored, it is your own fault, for you have asked for this story.” “Do not ramble, Running Dog. Get on with the story.” So it was that Running Dog, old Apache warrior, told his story that evening on the plateau of Apache country around a blazing council fire with his friends there to relive the experience of his childhood once again. “It was many years ago,” Running Dog began. “The Apache village in which I lived had a very long and difficult time of sickness. Many of our number had died of the great coughing sickness which the Long Knives call pneumonia, but it seemed that at last the sickness was leaving us and our people were returning to a time of good health and prosperity. There was much mourning for loved ones, but our family had been very lucky. My father and mother had both survived the epidemic and I, their only son, had been well all through the siege of sickness.