“No,” said her husband, “that is not the reason, for the catching of many sweet fish would be enough of a story. There is something more behind this and I must find out what it is. How would he know Bear Claw’s name? He was only a baby when the great chief vanished. Tomorrow I will go with the boy and see for myself this place where he says he met Bear Claw.” The next morning, Flying Owl’s father remarked to his son that it was such a nice day that they ought to go fishing once again at the still lake. Surely if there were more fish like those they had eaten the night before, they should try to make another large catch and share them with other families in the village. Flying Owl was thrilled with the thought of going fishing with his father and gathered his gear together quickly. Father and son started off together into the forest, traveling at a slower pace than Flying Owl had gone the day before. It was almost mid-day when they reached the side of the lake. Flying Owl’s father suggested that they eat lunch before they began fishing. When they were through eating, Flying Owl’s father looked at the boy curiously. “My son, show me where you saw this Seneca Chief yesterday.” “Certainly, father,” Flying Owl said confidently. He took his father’s hand and walked back to the fir tree under which the warrior had rested. They both looked carefully at the ground. “I see no signs of where a person lay under this tree, my son,” Flying Owl’s father finally said. “Are you sure that you saw a Seneca Chief when you were here yesterday?” “Oh yes, father, I know I did. We can’t find any trace of the spot he lay on because the fir needles have risen again like the grass on which a deer has lain. Surely you don’t believe that I would lie to you, father?” “No, my son. I do not believe you would, but I know of no one by the name of Bear Claw who lives in our village. Perhaps one of our unfriendly neighbors was playing a trick on you, or maybe your imagination wanted a little adventure of its own.” Flying Owl paused for a moment, thinking seriously. “No, father, you have taught me to be truthful at all times, and to tell you exactly what I have seen and heard. I did see a tall Seneca standing right there, wearing a Chief’s headdress that was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. It was not something in my imagination, and it was not one of our neighbors, for he wore no mask and no paint to hide behind. His costume was Seneca, and when I questioned him about our village, he knew every answer.” “All right, my son, we will speak no more about it. But come, we must cast our lines. It is growing late and we must hurry if we are to bring home another meal this evening.”