Spotted Tail drew his knife, but in mid-air the wolf seemed to stop and try to turn and return from whence he had come, and then the body was crashing to the ground, an arrow quivering in his side. Then there were howls and yells and cries from many points of the forest and arrows came flying into the wolf pack. Beast after beast fell under the onslaught of deadly shafts being fired by revenge-seeking Mohawk warriors until suddenly the whole pack lay dead in the quiet of the winter forest. It all happened so quickly that before Spotted Tail realized what had happened, Sleeping Water was lifting him from the snow smiling. “You have done well, my young brother, you have been brave this day. You left very clear signs for our party to follow and because of that we were able to wipe out this pack of beasts which have killed so much game.” “But the leader of the pack—I fired an arrow into him and it went right through him. Twice I saw this happen. He must have been a ghost and yet I saw his body hit the ground with the arrows of my brothers. How do you explain this, Sleeping Water?” “Come, Spotted Tail, I will show you.” Together they walked to where the great beast lay. “You see, his coat was such a pure white that it blended with the snow and when you fired it seemed as though you hit him but actually you missed. It is no shame, for it was a long and a difficult shot and when you fired a second time as he was moving toward you, the sun on the snow caused reflection to make you misjudge your shot. “We observed all this from our hiding places, for we came upon you just as you were preparing to make your first shot. But, please, Spotted Tail, do not take a chance like that again. It is very foolish to try something so dangerous when you are alone and especially when you knew that help was on the way. But this adventure has ended well, and you will have much to tell in the medicine lodge tonight, of the great ghost wolf that hunted these lands.” And so the pack was destroyed and soon the game returned once again to the hunting ground of the Mohawk and once again all was peaceful and happy along the Osage River. This story was told to the author by Jim Nutley of the Canadian Forest Ranger Service. 3. CUSTOMS THE TRIBES GATHER The Cree were plains Indians. Today their village was full of activity. A hunting party had just returned after a very successful hunt. The braves were already around the great council fire, telling of their exploits. Among these warriors was Slow Tongue, whose bravery and courage among the Cree was never questioned. When all the celebrating was over, Slow Tongue returned to his tepee and his family. His young son, Swift Hawk, had waited up for him and, with pride in his eyes, he looked up into his father’s face and said, “I am very proud to have you for my father.”