"Mark! Time to bring in the stock." Mark’s mom called from the doorway. Mark was down by the pond, his eye on a huge catfish, which he’d been trying to lure to his waiting baited hook all afternoon. "Mark," came the call again. "Alright! Alright!" he yelled back. The noise he made caused the wily fish to scamper away from the morsel that Mark was tempting it with. "Never fails" said Mark aloud. "Just when something good is about to happen, something bad always takes its place. This had been Mark’s philosophy on life all of his thirteen years. Being the oldest he was expected to do more, but being just under the age when most are considered to be a man, he was given some leeway to enjoy the boyhood adventures that he enjoyed. Today was going to be the exception.

As he got up from his fishing spot, he looked to the hillside pasture where the stock grazed. To his surprise all the stock was in a single file walking through the gate. Now that was good. But the person in front of them was not a family member, or a friend, it was an Indian. All war painted up, now that was bad. The Indian hadn’t seen him yet, that was good, however as the war club from his companion struck the back of his head and knocked him out, now that was bad.

"Psst! Mark Psst!" Mark could hear the small voice trying to prod him out of his stupor. As he opened his eyes a blinding flash of pain caused him to wince with agony. Trying to feel where the pain was coming from, Mark soon discovered that his hands and feet were firmly bound. Slowly he opened his eyes. The pain was still there, but not as bad as before. The first thing he saw was the face of his younger brother Mike. He was eleven, and still young in body and spirit.

"What happened?" asked Mark. "Shhh!" said his brother. "The farm was attacked by these Indians a couple of days ago." Now the tears started to roll down his younger brother’s face. "Ma and Pa are both dead, they put up a fight and they killed them, and they brought all our stock. Except ole Ginger she was in the barn and they didn’t see her." " Where are we?" asked Mark. His brother replied while keeping a wary eye on the Indians a short distance away. "Near as I can tell we’ve traveled about 30 miles. I don’t know this tribe, so I’m not sure where we’re heading, but it’s north by northwest." Marks’s mind was racing now. "Where are we? And how do we get away." He whispered to his brother, "We need to escape Mikey, and soon." "No way! Mark, there was another boy from down stream who tried to escape. See that hair over there on the pole? That’s his, they killed him and then scalped him. " Mike’s voice shook as he described the atrocities committed by the Indians who were squatting nearby. One of them looked in their direction, noticing that Mark was now awake he poked one of the others.

The taller Indian might have been the leader of the group. He certainty looked the part. He came over and examined the bloodied mass on the back of Mark’s head, then went to a gourd hanging around the neck of his pony. He scooped a handful of some powder and dripped a little water on it making a type of thick past. Coming back to Mark he put the concoction directly on the wound. Mark was amazed, immediately the pain was gone, he felt good. He smiled and told the Indian "Thank You" To which he responded by slapping Mark across the face. Yelping with laughter he rejoined his friends at the fire. Mark now had a new pain to contend with. Mike started to cry, but the Indian turned his head toward them and Mike stopped instantly. The savage just grunted and turned back around.

The next five days all seemed to run together. The nights were getting very cold. And the only warmth the boys could get was lying close to each other. No attempt was made by either youth to get away. They listened to their captors as they talked and were able to pick up a few words and their general meaning. On the eighth day as they crossed over a saddleback between two mountains, they finally got a view of their final destination. Sprawled between high mountains in a bowl like terrain was the largest village either youth had ever seen. As they descended into the valley area they stopped still a half a day ride from the village. Here they were untied for the first time in eight days. They were allowed to bathe in a nearby stream. They were fed as much as they wanted to eat. Although the menu only consisted of a pasty gruel they ate their fill. That night they were allowed to sleep under a heavy buffalo robe. Mark and his brother slept so soundly that they had to be awaken in the morning. Again they were allowed to consume as much of the gruel as they desired. Added to the fare this time however was some type of meat. They asked no questions as they torn into the stringy substance.

The leader now ushered them to the village entrance where the villagers all stood in two lines stretching from the entrance, for over a mile all the way to the door of the grand council house. They boys thought that this was a welcome line and started to walk down it. They were stopped at once by the leader. He explained with broken words and motions that they had to run one at a time from here to the end without falling. As Mark thought to himself this is too easy, at a command from the leader, the entire assemblage pulled out sticks and switches from their hiding places. Even that shouldn’t be too bad thought Mark. Ma made these britches good and thick to they would last a long time. That was good but true to form, here came the bad. Both boys were stripped naked in front of all the people there. The leader motioned for Mark to get ready to run. As Mark bent over to prepare his sprint the leader laid a rod across his backside that sent him sprawling a good six feet down the line. Sticks and stones rained down across him before he could regain his footing, but when he did he literally flew down the line very few hits were made on the speeding youth. The braves were visibly impressed. Now it was Mike’s turn, as he began to cry Mark ran up and shouted "NO!" As he approached the braves he made it known that he was going to run for his brother. And if he made it they both would be unharmed from then on. Boy were the braves ever impressed with this white boy. They were already starting to decide what his name would become if he made it . Some even bet that he would while others bet he would not.

Mike tried to talk his brother out of it, but Mark was solid in his determination. He took his place again at the starting line. This time he saw the shadow approaching from the rear, he stood up and turned around and wagged his finger in the face of the brave carrying the rod. Everyone howled with laughter, as he took off down the line, in fact they were still laughing before they realized that their target had already passed them by. Mark called upon reserves that even he didn’t know he had and he put on a burst of speed that amazed everyone. Now almost three quarters of the way through he could see the end coming up quickly. What he didn’t see however was the long stick that one of the braves had managed to stick between his speeding legs. Mark fell head over heels and landed face down in the dirt. The women and children pounced upon him striking him over every surface of his body. Hitting him over and over, as the blackness of unconsciousness started to sweep over him he whispered "I’m sorry Mikey"

During the next three days, Mark flirted with the death angel several times. Finally under the constant care of a motherly squaw, Mark started on the road to recovery. His fever broke and he finally opened his eyes. Three days later, he was finally able to sit up by himself, but only for a short period of time. The squaw smeared bear grease on his wounds and they healed with remarkable quickness. He slept the sleep of the dead, solid without dreams and had to be awakened each morning. This morning however was to be quite different.

Every other morning he was given the same pasty gruel that he and his brother had eaten on the trail. Tears filled his eyes as his thoughts flashed back into his mind and heart once more. But those tears turned to tears of pure joy as he saw his younger brother walk through the door. His smile got bigger as he got closer. Mark was amazed at how well he looked. He was clean and well fed. His farm clothes were replaced with a brand new pair of buckskins. Freshly tanned moccasins were on his feet. " We’ve been adopted into the tribe" said Mike. "They’ve even given us our own names." "What’s yours?" asked Mark. "My brother’s heart" replied Mike almost humbly. "And mine?" Brown bear who runs like the wind" responded Mike very proud of his brother. They were still talking about the last few days when the leader came into the hut. In his arms he carried a set of white buckskins with a calico shirt of brilliant design. Mark started to put them on, but the leader wagged his finger in Mark’s face . He turned his head and barked out a command. Two young maidens entered the hut. They stripped Mark of his healing garments and one on each side led him down to the river. Once in the water they pushed him under and held him there until he thought his lungs were going to burst. Finally they allowed him to surface. And they immediately began to grab handfuls of the gritty sand and pebble bottom of the river. This they scrubbed every inch of his body with such vigor that his entire body was now a rosy pink. Leading him to shore they dried him with rabbit fur and powered him with some fragrant substance.

"You have had your white life scrubbed from you," stated the chief. "You are now and forever more one of us, you will honor the customs of the tribe, protect it’s members as we will protect you. You are now bother among brothers." They dressed him in the fine new buckskins and placed on his feet were the softest pair of moccasins Mark had ever seen.

A year passed, the boys were now in every outward appearance, Indians. But inward they never forgot their roots. Every day they would ride to the same saddleback and talk of home, just to keep the memories alive. During this time also they only spoke English as so not to forget. They often talked about going back to rebuild their parents homestead. Little did they know that events were about to occur that would again change their way of life forever.

Mark was now 16 summers old, which meant that he was eligible to become a brave of the tribe. There were a series of tests that a young man had to pass, to even be considered brave material. All these he passed with the highest ratings. The final test was one that was going to be a mite harder for him to complete. He was to accompany his adopted father, who by the way was his original captor. He was to go on a raid to steal a horse from a white family.

They traveled for six days and nights, stopping only to rest and eat. The area they entered started to look familiar to him. He started playing a game with himself guess what was around the next turn in the trail. More and more he was right with his guesses. Then all at once it dawned on him, they were going to raid his old settlement area again. As they emerged from the forest they were directly above where his family cabin had once stood. But this one, to his memory looked exactly like his family’s cabin that he was raised in as a youth. A woman was walking across the field, taking a cool drink to her husband who was plowing the ground for spring planting. Her hair hung long like his mother’s and was exactly the same color! It was too far to tell, but deep in his heart he felt, no he knew that his parents were alive. But then remembering his brother back at the village, he did not let his excitement show to the other members of the raiding party, most importantly to his adoptive father who was watching him closely.

His father was well aware of where they were at. It was the ultimate test to see if Mark was now truly a member of the tribe. He watched and was satisfied that there were no visible feelings, gathered his warriors back into cover of the forest and they made their preparations for attack. Later over a dinner of cold jerky and water, Mark knew what he must do. It was now about 10pm and his natural father would have turned in about an hour ago. By now they were both fast asleep. He nodded to his father that he was going to prepare and would be ready soon. He took some scarlet war paint and had one of the braves copy a sketch he made in the sand. This he painted across Mark’s chest in large fashion just as he had drawn.

The rule was only the candidate and his sponsor was to actually steal the horse. The rest of the party stood by, in case something went wrong. Mark left his pony in camp and the two silently approached the small farm. As he moved toward the corral, he was very quiet, unknown that he knew where he was his father thought he was an excellent stalker and was very proud. Quietly he approached the gate, slipped the rawhide thong off the keeper and applied upward pressure on the gate itself to keep it from squeaking. Walking quietly to the horse, Mark whispered,"shhh, easy Ginger. The horse’s ears went up and immediately he sniffed the hand over its muzzle. Immediately it recognized the scent and gently nuzzled the hand. Mark slipped a noose around the animal’s head and started to lead him from the corral. Great Bear was deeply impressed. However when the horse saw and smelled his scent he snorted loudly. Mark immediately put his hand over his nose to quiet him. The noise however had awoke Mark's father in the cabin. "Who’s out there!" he commanded. Mark grabbed a handful of mane, swung up on the animal’s back. He held out his hand for his Indian father who grabbed it and swung up behind his adopted son. Now instead of turning towards the woods and making good their escape Mark did something that made him realize that he truly was a brave of the tribe. He let out a shrill yell and galloped directly for the farmer holding the lantern high to see who was there.

With the moon in his face and the light from the farmer’s lantern, Mark was clearly visible as Jeb Smith leveled his rifle at the two approaching horse thieves. As they got nearer, Mark sat up on the horse really straight and motioned for his Indian father to stay behind him. That was exactly what he did, consequently he did not see what Mark did next. As he gave his best yelp he pulled his tomahawk and got ready to throw it at Jeb. As he threw he pointed to his chest. The man pulled the trigger but not before he raised the muzzle slightly so the ball would pass over his head. What made him act so instinctive was the painting on the young warrior’s chest. It was writing and it said

" a Mark Smith a "

Do Not Kill

Immediately Jeb recognized his son and started to call his name. Mark shook his head no, yelped again, wheeled the horse around and raced for the tree line. Running into his cabin the man could hardly contain himself. He pulled the tomahawk out of the door as he entered. His wife stood there a puzzled look on her face. She could not understand why her husband was smiling such a foolish grin, they had just had their only horse stolen by two savages, what was the matter with him? "Do you know who threw this tomahawk at me ?" he asked She shook her head still not sure what was going on. "Your son! Mark did! Did you hear me woman? Marks Alive!" he exclaimed. "How?" said his wife hardly able to believe what she had been hoping in her heart all this time. Jeb recounted the whole affair for her, and when his story was completed he held her in his arms as they both cried tears of joy.

The raiding party rode hard all night, just to make sure that there was no one following them. At dawn the leader called a halt. Here they rested and he retold the occurrences of the night before with as much embellishment as he could muster. He teased Mark that he would have to teach him how to throw a tomahawk from the back of a galloping pony. As not to arouse suspicion he said, "That is why I missed, the white man’s horse was not like our ponies he was frightened and threw off my aim." They all thought about it and agreed that it made sense. Mark breathed a sigh of relief. All the rest of the way home they were making up songs to sing at his victory celebration.

Stopping at the same place outside the village as the day they were captured, Great Bear told Mark to wait while he made the preparations, he was to come in when the sun passed over the peak of the low mountain. He did as he was instructed and asked that he send his brother to him that he might share in his glory. This he readily agreed to do and galloped off to prepare a hero’s welcome for his son.

About an hour later his natural brother came riding up. "Boy are you a hero" he said. As he dismounted he noticed the captured horse tethered to a tree nearby. "Hey!" he shouted, "That’s Ginger!" any other words were stopped as Mark’s hand clamped over his mouth. Eyes bulged out and Mark held up his finger and motioned for him to be silent.

For the rest of the night the boys talked and planned. They could have very easily left right then and there. In fact that’s exactly Mike wanted to do. However Mark knew if they did, the tribe surely would know where they had gone. They had to make it look like they went in the opposite direction for completely different reasons. After Mark talked for almost an hour Mike reluctantly gave in. They would wait.

As the morning sun peeked over the lowest mountain in the surround chain the two young braves rode into the village. A complete transformation had taken place, Again the gauntlet lines were formed, but this time everyone was cheering and instead of switches and sticks they threw feathers and flower petals. Mark rode proudly on the captured steed, was dressed in his best buckskins, which his brother brought him yesterday. Ginger seemed to sense something special was happening because she pranced and high stepped all the way to the center of the crowd. This caused the villagers to appreciate the event even more. Cheers and shouts rang throughout the village. At the end of the line stood his father and the tribal chief. Both were dressed in their finest splendor. A smile as broad as the mountains around them beamed from his father’s face. Mark pranced Ginger up to the pair, dismounted and according to custom, presented the trophy to his benefactor, his father. Then he in return took two of his own feathers from his bonnet and attached them to the bridle of the horse, indicating that he accepted the gift and the animal now belonged to him. Then turning to the chief he bowed. The chief then took two feathers from his bonnet and attached them to Mark’s hair now indicating that he belonged to the chief and to the tribe. A cheer went up from the surrounding warriors and they all crowded around him to congratulate him in the customary manner. This was by clapping him on the back and presenting him an item from their own booty as warriors. The pile in front of him grew and grew as over 500 warriors paid tribute as had been done for each of them. The rest of the day was spent in food and celebration. Not only had Mark received warrior status but the label he wore as an adopted member was now dropped. He was now of full blooded Indian as far as the tribe was concerned. His brother spoke to him in a hushed whisper, "Boy I’m glad we didn’t leave last night, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything." All Mark could do was nod, he was still overwhelmed with all the attention he was receiving. But it wasn’t over yet! The crowd parted and Great Bear made his way towards him leading Ginger. The horse did not like the Indians at all. "As my gift to you my son, Monteo has told me to give you this pony for he said only you could control it." His father detached the feathers from the bridle and handed the reins to Mark. Immediately Ginger settled down as Mark stroked her muzzle and nudged against his chest. "You see!" exclaimed Great Bear, as he spread his arms toward the pair. "The great spirit, Monteo has spoken true!" "Father" said Mark. "Yes my son?" he replied. The crowd hushed for these were the first words Mark had spoken all day. "From the bottom of my heart, I accept and thank my father and the great Monteo for this gift." He continued. "But please allow me this," He took the two feathers from his father, one he combined with one of the two he wore and attached them to Ginger’s bridle. The other he combined with his own and reattached the pair to his hair. Mark then led the animal in a large circle for all to see. He exclaimed loudly, "From this day forth, let it be known that Brown Bear who runs as the wind is part of my father Great Bear. When I ride I ride beside him as him and he with me. As I am a warrior to this tribe, I am a warrior son to Great Bear." Mark then went to his father and gave him such a great hug that tears came to the eyes of the older man. Unknown to the pair, the chief of the tribe had been observing the past few minutes. As he held up his arms, immediately the crowd was completely quiet. He stood between the pair took each of their hands, raised them above his head and joined them for all to see. "So be it!" he commanded. A roar of approval went up that could be heard all the way to the forest where Jeb Smith and the other men hiding around him a mile away were watching everything.

"What are you agonna do Jeb?" asked one of his companions. "I counted over 500 warriors down there. We’s onlyst got ten of us!" "I’m not sure yet" said Jeb. " All I know is I’m not going home without my son." At that time he didn’t know that both his sons were alive and well.

Mark grabbed a handful of mane and swung up on his horse’s back. He had one more ritual to perform. He must ride the entire circumference of the camp seven times, each time widening the circle, to indicate that he would protect it and everyone in it every day. As he completed his last trip around the camp he was near the edge of the woods and something he saw made his heart leap. Ginger reacted to the familiar smell of his owner. Mark stopped and looked toward the village. "Do not show yourself pa" he said "They are watching me from the village. " Stay here, and later tonight I shall return" With that Mark continued his symbolic journey as if nothing had happened. "Now!" said Jeb to the others. "We wait!"

Now that Mark , or Brown Bear who runs as the wind, had become a full fledged warrior he had free run of the village. No more was he watched for possible escape attempts. He could come and go as he pleased. There was no moon tonight so no one saw him sneak out of his tipi and run all the way to the forest where his real father was waiting. " Stay down pa, the village has eyes everywhere" he said. "My God, son!" said Jeb "How are you, you really gave me quite a shock when I realized who you were back at the farm. Do you realize that I could have shot you?" "And" Mark began, "I got quite a shock when I saw that you and Ma were not dead as Mike had told me" "Mike!" exclaimed his father "is he here too? " "Yes " said Mark, "We both have been adopted into the tribe and today I was made a warrior." "I know" replied Jeb, "we saw it all from here, and I might say I was right proud to see you down there, and a mite jealous of that other man. Not the chief but the other one, who was that anyway?" Mark stood and gazed around at the men accompanying Jeb when he answered he was not ashamed. "He is my adopted father." He said, "I must go now, I don’t want anyone to find you here, go home Mike and I will return when the time is right.." Then he added, "it may be quite a while. But rest assured ,we will return. Goodbye pa" he said and ran toward the village staying in the shadows as he had been trained. "Let’s go home fellows" said Jeb.

Being a warrior, Mark had his own lodge where he lived and slept. He had no woman yet, but many of the young maidens in the village had made it known that they would not turn a deaf ear to any type of proposal he might offer. For the time being however he asked and got permission for his brother to stay with him until he picked a mate. They talked every night, tonight that talked almost till dawn. Mark told him everything that his father had said. He also told him that he told their father to go home for the time being. Mike was kind of confused as to why they could not leave right away but after Mark had explained it all to him he exclaimed," Boy, Mark you sure have grown up a lot these past two years." Mark just grunted as he rolled over and went to sleep.

The boys had thought that maybe it would be a week or maybe even a month before they could leave. In fact it was closer to a year later before the opportunity arose. A neighboring tribe had been raiding their grazing stock in the fields and some of the women had been killed or captured. A council of war was called in the great longhouse and all warriors were required to attend. Although Mike had only just attained his warrior status a week past he was allowed to attend the council. Both of the boys took their places beside Great Bear. War was declared against the other tribe and all at once the entire village was in an uproar. Now, Indians don’t do anything on the spur of the moment. It took a night of debate to decide to go to war, sleep in the day, a night of dancing to appease the war spirits, sleep in the day. Then more dancing and eating to bring the men to fever pitch.. The next day was spent in getting their weapons ready, this included their horses and what they would carry on them on the journey. Also what they would carry on their person.

No war paint was to be applied until the night before the attack, so that it might be fresh. Normally braves on the warpath travel very lightly, but the distance to the area where the other tribe lived was almost a 100 miles. So they had to pack extra clothes, blankets, food and additional weapons to use on the way. Two of the older brave that had reached an age too old to fight were put in charge of these animals. This also gave them use of the packhorses to carry their plunder from the conquered tribe. Finally five days after the war proclamation the warriors moved out, leaving behind the older men and younger boys to protect the tribe while they were gone. All would share in the bounty when they returned. For three more days they traveled north along the tops of the mountain ridges. The going was very difficult but they knew it was the fastest way to go. Also the enemy would not be expecting them to attack from this vantage point.

The last night on the trail the camp was a cold one, which meant no fires were started, because they might give away their position and they would lose the surprise advantage. Final preparations were now made. Knives and tomahawks were sharpened, arrows were fletched to perfection. War paint was applied and finally prayer to Monteo for strength, bravery and deliverance of the enemy on the morrow.

Great Bear would lead the first attack. An honor bestowed on him for past accolades from other battles and deeds. But this time he felt uneasy. He summoned his two adopted sons and together they walked to a high summit overlooking the sleeping village in the valley below. The boys were puzzled as to why they were here, they thought that it might be the usual pep talk the night before a battle. "My sons" he began, "Tomorrow we embark on a turning point in each of your lives. Up till now you have never had to take the life of another human being. I understand that this is going to be a very difficult thing for you to do. If you feel that you cannot, then I will understand and do hereby excuse you. You may remain here and guard the supplies. " He continued, "There will be no remorse and no shame will befall you. You will receive a full share each of the plunder " He paused, waiting for their answers, each looked at the other and nodded. "We ride with our father Great Bear" said the boys in unison. In his heart he was praying for just that answer, "With that reply" he said, "there is something else I must tell you" He paused and a look of concern came across his face. "Monteo has given me a gift, unknown to anyone else until this very moment. I can foresee the future. Not far into the future but what will happen from the next day sun to sun.

Mark began to worry about his encounter with his real father last year, but Great Bear did not bring it up, instead he concentrated on tomorrow’s events. "Tomorrow" he began "at the rising sun we will attack that village there below, we will be victorious, much plunder will be taken back to our people. Many will die, not so many from our people as from theirs" Mike asked his father, "Do you know who will perish from our people?" Great Bear just nodded and then softly he said," There are eight here who will not see the sunset tomorrow" then he began showing them who the eight were, after pointing out the seventh brave he stopped. "Father? " asked Mark "You said there were eight who will not return, am I or my brother the eighth brave?" "No my son," he replied "neither you or your brother have nothing to fear tomorrow. You will receive honors and glory for your deeds. Your brothers shall sing of your bravery for many moons." "But who then?" asked Mike, then he stopped in mid sentence, looked at his father and the true tears of a son started to flow. "Yes my sons, it is I Monteo has called as the eighth brave. I will cross over the river even while the battle is in his hottest. From a pouch he took two highly polished bear claws strung on rawhide, with a solid gold nugget on each side. These he gave each of the boys. "Never forget the teachings of Monteo" he said. "Or" said Mark, "the teaching of our father. Your honor will not be tarnished by our actions. Our lives will be a living monument to you." Mike agreed with his brother as he donned his bear claw. "We will carry your body back home to be laid with our ancestors" " No!" Great Bear commanded, both boys were puzzled. He began," After the battle bring my body back to this place. I have prepared a suitable place for my departure from this world". He then led them to a large boulder went around it and there on the other side they saw the funeral pyre, waiting for the body to be set ablaze. "It will be as you wish father, but your praises we will sing with your followers and braves." Mark was just about to say something else ,when Great Bear again said. "NO! You will not return to the home of your adopted village." Mark was now really afraid of what was coming next, but he need not have feared. Great Bear was not only a warrior, but also a father who had loved these two with all his being. Looking at Mark he said, "The day you became a warrior my son, Monteo showed me that you were to meet a white man near the village. I feel that man must have been the husband of your earth born mother." Mark hung his head and nodded. "As I thought" said Great Bear "As I have he must have great love for you to follow you all the way here from the low lands.

When the battle is ended you are to bring my body here to this spot. Present it to Monteo as a burning sacrifice. I have already directed Burnt Feather to give you a packhorse and your shares of the plunder. You and your brother are to return to your white parents." Both boys were surprised and equally amazed. "But won’t the others try to stop us?" asked Mike. "No" said Great Bear. "They will be told that you have gone into seclusion to grieve my death. Follow the setting sun for three days, then put the rising sun over your heart’s shoulder. In two moons you will find yourself in more familiar territory." Both boys took one of their own feathers and wove it into their father’s hair. "So that we may be with you on your journey to Monteo" said Mark. "You both are here and always will be", he said pointing to his heart. He then embraced them both for a long time. Looking over the valley, he said, "the sun has started it’s journey, let us avenge our people.

Riding into the enemy camp, Great Bear led his braves with such a surprise attack that the enemy was completely overwhelmed. Saddened that he would not ride with his sons anymore, but happy with the choice he had made. Minutes into the foray an arrow caught him directly in the heart and the once Great Bear was no more. The warrior who released the arrow got something in return. Two arrows pierced his heart and he too fell as did Great Bear. As he had predicted both boys brought honor to themselves and to their people. All the time guarding the body of their father to prevent any other damage coming to it.

After the battle was over, the village burned and the captives were being led away, the boys carried their father to the pyre he himself had constructed. As the flames reached their peak, a giant comet streaked across the sky. Both boys cried desperately for their father for they truly loved him with a love reserved for only a real father.

Exactly three days and two moons later, they stopped above the small valley wherein lay their white parents cabin. Their ponies were loaded with gifts for their parents. They of course had taken the precaution to stop and wash off their war paint and any trace of the battle. Although their hair was still long they each had it tied back in white man’s fashion. Jeb and Mary Smith both heard the hoofbeats as the boys rode up.

Jeb, came out with his rifle but as soon as he saw the boys he dropped it there in the dirt and ran to embrace them both, Their mother was right on his heels to do the same. The next few days were a blur for the whole family. Together again they swapped stories of the past three years and relative came and went. The boys were home.