We hid our canoe when the morning was bright on the water, and started inland.  My father had put it upon me to find a new home for us and to spy out the land.  For this I could not remain upon the water, but must explore.  Besides, it was a strong craving in me to know what lay about me, and Keokotah felt as I did.

Rich were the grasses underfoot, and tall the trees when we came to them.  There were numerous springs, yet not so many running streams, for this was limestone country, a place of many caves where the streams ran deep within them.  Yet I began to see a reluctance in Keokotah, a hanging back at times, and he looked upon the hills with awe and seemed to wish to avoid the caves.

"The spirits of the dead are here," he said, when I asked him the why of it.  "They are all about.  And there are caves where they sleep, not dead, yet not alive."

"You have seen this?"

"I have."

"Will you take me to them?"

"I will not."

"I will make strong medicine," I said, "medicine that will protect us from evil."

That he had respect for my magic I knew, and I must keep him respecting it, but to do that it must be used sparingly and with care.

"I have much to learn," I said, "and mayhap those who once lived here were of my people."  I did not know this was true, but knew the story of Prince Madoc of Wales, and suspected a connection.

Night was coming on when we spoke of this, and we made a small camp near a spring in a nest of rocks and trees.  It was a hidden place and such as we needed, for we must make fresh moccasins from skins we carried.  Moccasins did not last like English boots, but we were skilled at cutting out the patterns and shaping them to our feet.

What had Keokotah meant when he had said "they lived yet did not live"?

I knew the folly of asking direct questions, on some topics at least.  I said no more, but waited, wishing for him to talk but knowing he would talk of these things only when the mood was upon him.

The night was very still.  We sat late beside our fire building moccasins for tomorrow and other days.  Knowing we had the time we each made several pairs, and I wished to wait and hope Keokotah would decide to speak.

Finally, he did.  "Cold came early that year.  I saw no bears, and even the birds flew low and fluttered from bush to bush.  When the snow fell it fell thick, and soon it was deep and my tracks were deep like the tracks of pasnuta."

"Pasnuta?"

He looked at me with no friendly eyes.  "The big one with the long nose.  The Poncas call him pasnuta."

"I did not know there was a name," I said.

"All things have names."  He spoke with dignity.  "Pasnuta means 'long nose.'"

After a moment he explained.  "Pasnuta ver' heavy.  He makes deep tracks in snow."

"It was an early snow?" I prodded him.