This Indian village was a very crowded one that night.

The squaws and children slept in the wigwams, while the Indian men stretched themselves on the ground outside.

A few kept watch, for fear the enemy might return and destroy their village.

The tiny stars twinkled brightly from the heavens.

The good moon sent her protecting light upon the village.

All was very peaceful, except for the hoots of the owls which sounded through the forest.

The enemy did not return that night.

Early in the morning the Indians awoke after a good rest. They felt that they must go out again in search of more food.

Some carried long spears with them, so that they might spear the fish. Others went into the forest carrying their bows and quiver bags with them.

The women, with their babies on their backs, started out to gather poles for new wigwams. They must lose no time for winter was at hand, and wigwams must be built before snow came.

While the women were busy and the men hunting and fishing, the children gathered for games. Some of the boys ran to the river. What sport they had diving and swimming!

Others jumped on their ponies and had a fine time racing.

How they did dash along, so fearless and brave!

Now one was ahead, now another!

How they laughed and shouted as they rode!

The ponies seemed to enjoy the race as much as the boys.

Some of the older boys were enjoying a game of javelins which they were playing.

They had lined up on either side of the field.

One side had bone rings, and the other side long javelins.

Now one player threw a ring, and the opposite player tried to catch it on his javelin.

Oh! the first player caught the other’s ring.

Now the next two players tried and one caught the other’s ring.

The third player didn’t take good aim and lost his partner’s ring. He must give his javelin to the opposite side.

After all on one side have had a chance to catch the rings, the opposite side will have a chance.

When both sides have tried, the side having more javelins will win the game.

The boys had great fun as they played. They laughed and shouted and danced for joy.

Mewanee grew tired of watching and wandered off into the forest. No one noticed his going.

He had his bow and arrow with him.

He started off in the direction the hunters had taken earlier in the day.

On and on he ran through the forest. He stopped to talk with the chipmunks or to feed the squirrels as they leaped about the ground.

The birds flitted about him in great glee. They twittered and chirped and flew about his shoulders.

Mewanee was very happy. He had no thought of fear. He loved the birds and the wild animals of the forest and enjoyed being with them.

On and on he walked, into the dense forest.

As evening drew near he grew tired. He lay down under a tall pine tree and was soon fast asleep.

He had been sleeping very soundly, when suddenly he was awakened by a fierce howl.

He jumped up and looked about him!

Already he could see the flaming eyes of a wolf not far off.

Quickly he sprang to the pine tree and with one bound, started to climb it.

Before even the swiftest wolf could reach him he was way up on the topmost bough.

Poor Mewanee was badly frightened now. As he looked below he saw the eyes of the hungry wolf glaring at him through the darkness.

How bright and terrible his eyes looked! Mewanee had never before been so near a wolf.

The silvery moon looked down upon the little fellow, seeming to say, “Do not fear. I will care for you.”

The soft wind whispered to Mewanee and told him to have no fear. Still Mewanee was not comforted.

“O Great Spirit,” cried Mewanee, “protect me from this terrible wolf.”

Mewanee felt for his quiver bag. He had forgotten that he had laid his bow and arrows under the tree.

He had no way of helping himself. He thought of his father and mother and his dear little baby brother.

He knew that while he remained in the tree, the wolf could not reach him.

He wondered if his father and the other Indians would return this way.

He did not know what to do. He did not dare to sleep for the wolf still kept watch. Now and then the wolf gave a hungry howl and looked fiercely at the little Indian boy sitting in the tree-top.

Hour after hour passed.

It was morning, and Father Sun was smiling at him with his kindly light. Mewanee loved the great bright sun and talked to him as if he were his father.

The Indian people believed that the wind, sun, moon, stars and thunder were good spirits which helped them care for themselves and their lands.

Mewanee felt sure that if he were patient, help would come, but he was so very tired that he did not know how much longer he could stay crouched in the tree-top.

A wild blackbird sang to him from a branch near by. He said, “Fear not, Mewanee; help is near at hand.”

Mewanee tried to be brave.

Suddenly all grew very dark within the forest.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Flash upon flash of lightning shot through the sky.

Mewanee crouched lower and lower.

He felt sure that the Great Spirit had answered his prayer by sending the Thunder God to him.

As peal after peal resounded through the forest and flash upon flash burst upon him, the wolf gave a deep, angry howl. Then he turned and fled into the dense forest.

Mewanee heard him go and raised his arms in prayer.

Soon the sky became clear and the sun shone once more.

Mewanee slowly and cautiously climbed down the tree. He was stiff and cold and hungry.

He threw himself face downward upon the ground and gave thanks to the Great Spirit for his care.

He picked up his bow and quiver bag and ran, as fast as he could, toward the opening. On and on he ran until he came to the edge of the forest, when he could see his village.

His father and the other Indians had returned from the hunt. He saw them going to and fro seeming troubled and anxious. The chief, his father, sat watching and waiting.

Mewanee ran as fast as his tired legs would let him.

“Father, father!” he shouted.

The chief jumped up and clasped his son in his arms.

All of the Indians rushed toward them asking many questions.

When they heard the story they sang words of praise.

The chief led his son to the wigwam and bade the mother give him food and drink.

“Rest well, my son,” he said, “for you have indeed been a brave boy. I feel sure that you will be a fit warrior to take my place.

“We have had a fine hunt; you have returned unharmed; we can be at peace once more.”