The voice was coming from beyond the medicine well. Singing Waters ran on further; then she stopped and called again. The voice replied again, and Singing Waters knew that she was closer. Brown Fawn’s voice seemed to be coming from just behind a rise ahead of her. She ran swiftly to the top of the rise, and there she found a water bag. As she looked down the side of the rise through the gathering gloom she could make out Brown Fawn’s figure down the side of the hill. She sat leaning against a boulder, and she called out to Singing Waters to help her. Singing Waters slipped and slid in her haste down the side of the hill until she was at the side of Brown Fawn. Brown Fawn was so glad to see her that she cried, great tears rolling down her now pale cheeks. Singing Waters could see that Brown Fawn had twisted her ankle. As she began to lift the injured woman, Singing Waters asked her how she had hurt herself and how she had escaped the storm. Brown Fawn told how she had reached the medicine well just as the dust storm had broken. After filling her water bag, she had turned quickly to go and had fallen, twisting her ankle. When she was once again able to rise, putting her weight on her other ankle, she found that she had lost all sense of direction and had started hobbling in the wrong direction. “Why didn’t you lie down among the rocks until the storm passed?” Singing Waters asked. “I wanted to rest,” Brown Fawn replied, “but then I would think of my mother and son and I felt I must return to her and Fat Buffalo immediately with the medicine water.” “But,” said Singing Waters, “you are safe now. Now we must return to the village while there is still a little light or we may become lost out here on the prairie far away from the warmth of our tepees. Come, Brown Fawn, lean upon me and I will help you to walk.” So Brown Fawn placed her arm across Singing Waters’ shoulders. Together they slowly started back to the village. It was dark by the time they had reached the fringe of the village, but bright fires had been lighted to show them the way home. There was much rejoicing as Singing Waters entered the village half carrying Brown Fawn. Gentle hands grasped Brown Fawn and placed her gently upon the buffalo robe in her tepee. Soon her eyelids flickered and she opened them wide, looking around for a face which meant much to her. But Singing Waters had returned to her own home and her children and was recounting for them the adventure she had just had. They smiled, knowing that their mother was a woman of great courage. They were very proud. THE WAR THAT SHOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED Little Turtle was a young Comanche who lived happily with his mother, father, and two older brothers on the great prairies. His father was well respected by the tribe, above all for having three sons who would grow to manhood and bring honor to the Comanche name.