For a long time Black Hawk sat by the side of the lake thinking about what Crooked Arrow had been saying. Suddenly he realized what had happened here. He had made a friend, a very close friend, and it made his heart warm. Slowly he too returned to where he had slept and, lying down once again, was soon fast asleep. Dawn broke bright and warm upon the lake and soon all the Indians were astir. They all ate a hearty breakfast and as they were packing the remainder of the equipment and safely storing the canoes away once again, the first of the hunting party arrived. They too had a very successful hunt, and Black Hawk counted five very plump bucks being carried by the hunting party. Some of the braves were quick to point out to him that the largest buck had been brought down with an arrow from the bow of Tall Hawk and this made Black Hawk very proud of his father. The party started on the return trip to the village and it was a happy group which entered the circle of homes to be greeted warmly by friends and family who viewed the fine food supply with a great deal of laughter and joy. The party soon dispersed, each one returning to his own home. When Black Hawk and his father returned to their home there was a fine meal awaiting them; and the rest of the family, his mother and two sisters, greeted the two hunters with praise for their success which had preceded them to their home by the little braves’ spreading the word through the village of the success of the hunters, especially Tall Hawk and his son Black Hawk, the great fisherman. After supper, Black Hawk stepped out of his home and wandered through the village greeting his many friends and talking with them of the adventures he had just been through. Finally Black Hawk had been to almost all his friends when he noticed one rather shabby wigwam set off from the rest on the far side of the village. Slowly puzzling a little bit about this, he wandered toward the wigwam. He saw one of his playmates, Walking Bird, and he stopped to ask who lived in the wigwam in the distance. “Oh,” said Walking Bird, “that is the home of Crooked Arrow. He lives off by himself like that, for he seems to enjoy being by himself. He is a strange sort of man and he very rarely comes out of his wigwam to participate in the activities of the tribe, except when there is a hunting or a fishing party or a tribal celebration. Was not he on the same trip with you?” “Yes, he was, and I think I shall pay him a visit.” Quickly Black Hawk approached the wigwam of Crooked Arrow and when he had reached the flap that served as a door he called out and asked if he might enter. “Come in, come in, my friend, Black Hawk,” called Crooked Arrow. The boy entered and Crooked Arrow rose to greet him. “It is very kind of you to come and see me.” “Is it not the thing to do for friends to visit one another?” asked Black Hawk. “Why do you live here by yourself? Have you no family?”