It was spring in the valley of the Delawares and day followed day with the peaceful and warm sun shining down upon the village in which Little Horse lived. Occasionally the soft rains would descend on the forest and hillside making everything wet and a rich green color. All was happiness in the village until that fateful day when Little Horse decided to take his long trip. Shouldering his stout bow and a quiver of arrows he started out along the forest trail. He desired to go to the upper end of the valley and search out some wild turkey which he had heard many of the returning hunters speak about. The fact that the place where these turkeys lived was almost a day’s journey from his village did not seem to bother him, for he had placed in his food pouch enough dried venison and he would have berries and nuts along the way. As he walked along, he looked from side to side watching for signs of wild game, not wanting to kill any so close to home but wanting to test his senses of hearing and sight which had been trained by his father so patiently. Once in a while, Little Horse would stop in his journey to partake of some fresh water or just to rest on a moss patch under some large tree and think about the wonders of nature and the wonderful peace in his tribe. Then he would rise and continue his journey which took him further and further from home with each step. And not realizing it, he had soon crossed into the land of the Iroquois, for his particular tribe had their village close to the line which separated the lands of the Delawares from the hunting grounds of the Iroquois. This talk of tribal lands and borders did not mean much to Little Horse, although he had heard his father speak quite often of the Iroquois; and though he had been told never to wander too far from the village, he felt he was grown up enough by this time to take care of himself. One other thing which meant very little to Little Horse was the fact that in this period, neighboring tribes were often at war with each other, for war between tribes was rather common among the American Indians. Stealing and quarreling among individuals and trespassing upon hunting grounds were but a few reasons for this constant state of war and feuding. But to a young lad like Little Horse, who was so wrapped up in his desire to hunt the elusive turkey, war and fighting were the furthest things from his mind. Meanwhile Running Bear, back at the village, was asking about for his son, for today he was to have taken him fishing in the great lake. No one seemed to know where the boy was until Running Bear asked a group of children playing on the edge of the village, and one of them replied that he had seen Little Horse with his food pouch at his belt and his bow over his shoulder trotting up the trail that led to the north and into the land of the Iroquois.