With that, Great Eagle picked up the rabbit and put it in his pouch and the three of them started for home. Both boys seemed quite happy now that Great Eagle had made the decision. However, that night Little Frog leaned over in his bed and tapped White Eagle’s shoulder. “White Eagle,” he said, “what does your father mean when he says we are like the stubborn elm?” “Tomorrow morning,” said White Eagle, “I will show you what my father meant.” With that the boys went to sleep. The following morning when they arose, Little Frog was impatient to learn why Great Eagle had called them stubborn like the elm, and he quickly reminded White Eagle of his promise of the night before. Hand in hand, they started for the great forest. As they went along, White Eagle kept breaking branches of the different trees along the way. Little Frog was imitating White Eagle as they walked until they came upon a small young elm tree. White Eagle did his best to break the elm tree, but all it did was bend. Then Little Frog tried to help him break the tree; but despite their weight and strength, it still only bent. Just then they heard a voice behind them and Great Eagle stepped up and placed his hands on the shoulders of both boys. “Now,” he said, “you have found the reason why I called you stubborn as the elm. Many, many of the trees of the forest can be broken and forced to the earth. But the elm tree will bend and not break unless the strength of several braves is put upon it. So it is with two proud young Indian boys who both believe they are right, putting their equal strength against each other in an argument. Neither gives way, just as the elm will not give away. If I attempted to add my strength on either side of the argument, the other might have bent to the earth like the elm if we all put our weight upon it. So remember this tree. As long as you believe honestly that you are right, you can be strong and straight like the elm tree; but once you leave the path of truth and wisdom you become weak and brittle, and your enemy can bow you to the ground in shame and defeat.” This story was told to the author by James Ariga, a boy of part Cherokee blood, at the Ten Mile River Scout Reservation in the year 1947. THE RACE Winter had come to the many Indian villages in the northeastern woodlands, and with it, the snow, the wind, and the cold. The winter was so severe that even the strongest braves hesitated to wander far from their villages, knowing that death could overtake an adventurous brave if a sudden blizzard should catch him far from familiar ground.