Fear gripped Running Bear’s heart. Just that morning one of the hunters had returned from the forest to tell of having found three Iroquois painted arrows stuck in the ground in a row, which was a sign of open warfare and he had the three arrows gripped in his hand which had been found close by to the village. This could mean but one thing. For some reason the Iroquois had been aroused, and now no Delaware would be safe alone any great distance from the home encampment. As long as this open warfare lasted, now they would have to travel in groups. Running Bear feared for his son. So Running Bear gathered a few of his friends, and in a group they started up the trail toward the land of the Iroquois, hoping that Little Horse had not gone too far after all. But they were to be sadly disappointed, for Little Horse at this moment was deep in Iroquois territory on the trail of wild turkey. As Little Horse walked silently along the forest trails, he suddenly realized that it had become very quiet. He stopped to listen for the song of the birds but he heard none. He even found it so quiet that the breeze sounded like a windstorm. Someone or something else was near by, for only for that reason would all the forest creatures grow silent. Then he heard the call of one solitary bird ahead and off to the left. And then behind him to the right he heard a similar call and then Little Horse knew. It came upon him suddenly like a thundering in his ears. He realized that he was no longer in Delaware country, for this was the call of the Iroquois which his father had taught to him. But what had he to fear? The Delawares and the Iroquois were not at war, and so he boldly shouldered his bow and turned to start for home down the trail. But before he had taken two steps there was a loud whooping from many directions and before Little Horse could do anything, he was surrounded and his arms pinned by four husky Iroquois braves. One of them brandishing a shining knife was about to take the boy’s life when another brave stepped from the brush and spoke, “Put down your knife. This Delaware is tall, but he is only a boy.” “But he is still a Delaware,” cried the brave, holding the knife close to the heart of Little Horse. “No matter, he is young and strong. We will take him back to the village with us. We have not had much sport these days of late. This young one will make a fair game for us. We will have him run the gauntlet to see whether he will be permitted to live. I, Crooked Hand, have spoken.” Little Horse then realized that Crooked Hand must be some sort of leader in the tribe, for there was no more argument. The arms of Little Horse were then tightly bound behind him and he was roughly shoved along the trail toward the village from whence these warriors had come. His weapons had been gathered, and one of the braves carried these as the party trotted easily along the trail, pressing Little Horse before them.