The next day he
killed a bear, but as usual he fell asleep while the tongue was
roasting, and this time he was waked by a porcupine. The fourth day he
found his arrow in a buffalo. "Now," said he, "I will eat at last, and I
will find out, too, who and what it is that wakes me."
But he fell asleep as usual, and was waked in the morning by a female
who touched him lightly and pointed to the path. Her back was turned
towards him, and instead of rising to follow her, he caught her in his
arms, determined to see and talk with her.
Finding herself a prisoner, the girl turned her face to him, and Chaske
had never seen anything so beautiful.
Her skin was white as the fairest flower that droops its head over the
banks of the "Lac qui parle." Her hair was not plaited, neither was it
black like the Dahcotah maidens', but it hung in golden ringlets about
her face and neck. The warm blood tinted her cheeks as she met the
ardent gaze of the Dahcotah, and Chaske could not ask her who she was.
How could he speak when his heart was throbbing, and every pulse
beating wildly?
"Let me go," said the girl; "why do you seek to detain me? I am a
beaver-woman, [Footnote: According to the wise men of the Dahcotahs,
beavers and bears have souls.
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