After traveling most of the day and stopping only for lunch the two boys decided to halt and make camp for the night. They found a beautiful spot near a water hole and after staking their horses out they unrolled their blankets and prepared the evening meal. In the darkness they could hear the coyote baying at the moon and Running Dog remarked how sad and plaintive was the call of the coyote. White Cloud agreed, “Yes, Running Dog, it is quite a sad sound, but after all the coyote is a very lonely animal. You too would not feel much like laughing if you had to spend all of your life alone without friends.” The two boys laughed and then wrapping themselves in their blankets were soon fast asleep. The following morning the boys rose and after eating breakfast, packed their equipment once again and were soon on the trail, traveling ever northward. Soon they had entered land that was not at all familiar to them, but they began to notice plentiful signs of game and so they kept eagerly onward. “Look,” cried Running Dog, “pony tracks, and they are fresh. Not too long ago Indian ponies passed this way. In fact I would say they are not more than a day old. See, it has been damp here and the impression of the ponies’ hoofs has not had time to harden through. I wonder though, White Cloud, why our brothers would be this far north?” White Cloud thought for a moment and then he said, “But, Running Dog, you do not think that we are the only ones off on a hunting party. These are probably the tracks of some of our men who are also seeking game and have come this far north in search of it.” “That may be true, White Cloud; on the other hand, these may be the hoof prints of Kiowa ponies and if so then we are much further north than I figured and are now in Kiowa territory. That is not a healthy place to be.” “What should we do, Running Dog?” “I do not know. For if we are in the land of the Kiowas we should turn and return to our own land; but if we are not and these are the tracks of friendly Apaches we would be silly to turn back, for only now have the signs of game become plentiful. The problem is whether we should stay and take our chances or return empty-handed with our tails between our legs.” “You are older, Running Dog, you make the decision.” “All right then, we shall stay and take our chances. I have seen many signs of deer and we shall find ourselves a large buck to kill before we return to our village. But come, it is getting late. Let us find a good place to camp.”