"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.

They have many traditions about bear and beaver-women] and you are a Dahcotah warrior.

Turn from me and find a wife among the dark-faced maidens of your tribe." "I have always despised them," said the Dahcotah, "but you are more beautiful than the Spirits of the water.