Have
pity on me, I pray thee! May I some day be-
come the mother of a great and brave race of
warriors!" So the maiden prayed silently.
It was now full-born day. The sun shone
hot upon the bare ground, and the drops stood
upon Snana's forehead as she plied her long
pole. There was a cool spring in the dry creek
bed near by, well hidden by a clump of choke-
cherry bushes, and she turned thither to cool
her thirsty throat. In the depths of the ravine
her eye caught a familiar footprint--the track
of a doe with the young fawn beside it. The
hunting instinct arose within.
"It will be a great feat if I can find and take
from her the babe. The little tawny skin shall
be beautifully dressed by my mother. The legs
and the nose shall be embossed with porcupine
quills. It will be my work-bag," she said to
herself.
As she stole forward on the fresh trail she
scanned every nook, every clump of bushes.
There was a sudden rustle from within a grove
of wild plum trees, thickly festooned with grape
and clematis, and the doe mother bounded away
as carelessly as if she were never to return.
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