“You did well, my son. But come, I want you to welcome a friend of mine. This is Chief Big Running Fox of the Abnakes. With him are fourteen of his finest hunters. Our hunting party searched far and wide for game but with little success. After many days of searching, we were ready to start for home, sad and empty handed, when we were met by Chief Big Running Fox. After explaining to him our presence in Abnake lands, we were invited to their village, where we received food and shelter for the night. The next morning Chief Big Running Fox explained that the bad weather this past spring had driven the game north. The Abnakes had plenty, but knew that their neighbors to the south would not have much game. So Chief Big Running Fox let us hunt on the Abnake grounds to get plenty of meat for our tribe. In return we have invited them here for a feast to thank them for this great kindness.” “I am sorry, great chief, that I thought you were going to attack our village,” said Little Elk, feeling very much ashamed. Chief Big Running Fox placed his hands upon the boy’s shoulders. “Do not feel ashamed. It could have been an unfriendly visit and you were right to warn your people of strangers near your home. Your father can be proud to have you for a son, and we are glad to have you as a friend.” The hunting party of Iroquois and Abnakes moved into the village side by side. That night, instead of war dances, there were happy dances celebrating their good hunting and finding a new friend. Right in the center of all the excitement sat Little Elk and Quarter Moon, the heroes of the day. A KITTEN BRINGS A BOY HIS FEATHER Between the swift running Snake River and the rumbling Grande Ronde in the beautiful Valley of Winding Waters, there lived a band of Indians called the Wallows, a branch of the Nez Percé tribe. Little White Wolf was one of the young boys who was trying to earn his first feathers which would show that he had become a full-fledged brave. Often he would wander from the camp into the forests that covered the slopes of the valley. There he would try to think of things he could do to get his feather—an act of bravery or great hunting skill. Two summers had passed since he first tried to win his feather. His little friends, Swift Owl and Gray Frog, had earned their feathers and now strutted proudly through the village to call attention to their feathers. They both took special care to spend most of their time playing near Little White Wolf, no doubt to make him jealous of their awards.