"Now we'll help find your cow, Eagle Feather," said Bunny, for he was no
more afraid of the Indian than you would be of the fireman down in the
engine house at the end of your street, or the policeman on your block.
Bunny and Sue had lived in the Big Woods so long now, and had seen the
Indians so often, even to learning the names of some of them, that they
thought no more of them than of some of the farmers round about.
"All right--we go find cow," said Eagle Feather. "No milk for little
papoose if cow no come home." "Papoose" was the word the Indians used
for "baby," and in the log cabin where Eagle Feather lived were two or
three papooses.
"It must have been your cow that poked her head into our tent," said
Sue, "for she had two crumpled horns, and the farmer's had only one."
"That right," said Eagle Feather with a sort of grunt. "My cow have two
horns twist like so," and he held up two fingers and made a sort of
corkscrew motion in the air with his hands.
"Then that was your cow all right," said Bunny. "Uncle Tad tied her to a
tree, but maybe we can find her.
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