The sun was down and it was almost dark when the party rode into camp. The warriors dismounted and unloaded the meat from the pack horses. Then Little Bear drove all of the horses across the hill to the meadow. At the top of the hill he dismounted and let his own horse go with the others.
He hurried back to Grandfather’s tepee and crawled into his blankets. Soon he was fast asleep, dreaming he was training the roan colt Flying Arrow had wanted to give him.
Little Bear was out of the tepee the next morning before the sun had started up the eastern sky. Early as he was, Great Bear was already broiling buffalo steaks over a low fire.
“You are early this morning, Grandfather,” Little Bear greeted him.
“It seemed the Great Spirit was trying to warn me,” Great Bear explained. “He wouldn’t let me sleep. I feel there is danger.”
Little Bear had no thought of laughing at his grandfather. Many times Grandfather had thought the Great Spirit was trying to warn him of danger, and danger had appeared soon afterwards. No, if Great Bear was afraid of danger, danger must be near.
“Bring me a horse,” Great Bear ordered. “I’ll make a scouting trip before the others are ready to break camp.”
“Have our hunters decided to return to the main camp?” Little Bear asked.
“It is time for Old-Man-of-the-North to send snow,” Great Bear answered. “We will join the other Sioux and move with them to the winter camp.”
Little Bear opened his mouth to make a request, but thought better of it and remained silent. Grandfather noticed his hesitation.
“Bring your horse, too.” He smiled. “You may as well learn about scouting. Besides, you were a great help yesterday.”
Little Bear looked at the wound on the side of Great Bear’s head. Great Bear had removed the bandage. The wound had healed remarkably overnight and now seemed only a deep scratch.
“Your wound is healing well,” Little Bear said.
“It was just a scratch.” Great Bear snorted. “Off with you.”
Little Bear didn’t want Grandfather to change his mind about the scouting trip. He turned and hurried away towards the meadow. As usual, when he came within sight of the horses, Little Bear slowed to a walk. As he neared the herd, he gave that low whistle.
He knew at once something was wrong. He saw his own horse lift its head and look towards him. He repeated the whistle, still looking carefully at the herd. He was sure some of the horses were gone. He gave a gasp of dismay. Flying Arrow’s roan colt was gone. Impatiently he whistled again. His horse left the herd and trotted towards him. As he was waiting for his own horse, Little Bear saw the roan colt come out of the brush to the west and join the rest of the herd. At least it wasn’t gone.