The storm passed and the waters became calm, and now Little Beaver’s job was easier, but so was that of the enemy. He paddled with all his might though he felt his arms would fall off. Finally he reached the shore and he leaped out onto the sand. Without waiting to pull his canoe ashore he rushed for the village. He turned to glance at the lake once more and he could see the canoes of the enemy drawing along the shore, closer to the village with each stroke. He rushed to his father and quickly told him what he had seen. His father dashed from the wigwam and glanced toward the lake. Just then they both heard it once again. The cry of the great horned owl. His father stopped and listened and then placing his own hand to the side of his mouth he answered the whistle. Then he turned to his son. “It is all right my son. These are friends come to join in a great celebration. It is your uncle and his people from the north. Be not afraid, for they are friends.” Little Beaver looked at his father. He smiled and taking his father’s hand they walked toward the lakeside. Stepping from the canoes were a number of Cayuga warriors and they came with many bundles. The two groups greeted each other and then the leader of the visitors came forward. “Your father has explained that you thought we were unfriendly Indians come to call. I, for one, am glad that you are not a grown warrior right now, for your arrow shaft might have found its place in my heart in the forest. We had hoped to surprise your people with our visit but when we saw your canoe glide away from the Lake of the Rushes we knew we had been seen. And so, my little brave, let me congratulate you on a fine job of paddling. You came across the lake in a storm without slowing your stroke. I have told my brother that if we had been the enemy you would have reached the village far ahead of us and we would now be walking the trail of the happy hunting ground.” That night Little Beaver slept very soundly. He had a great adventure on his first trip to the Lake of the Rushes and it would be a long time to come before he would go alone again. THE DREAM THAT LED TO VICTORY Singing Fire, the young Apache brave, rode swiftly through the hills toward the village of his people. He had been hunting and now was returning to his tepee to join his family in a hearty evening meal. His hunger made him urge his pony to an even faster pace. Soon he could see the smoke of the fires in the village. It was only a few moments later that Singing Fire brought his pony to a quick stop on the very edge of the village. To ride his horse through the village this evening would have been unkind. The summer had been very dry, and his pony’s hoofs would have raised much dust that would settle in the cooking pots.