Old Beaver Tail arose very early. Long before Young Bear opened his eyes the old man was walking away from their campsite. They were camping beside a small river. Last night when they had finished the day's march Old Beaver Tail had seen something in the twilight. Something in the river had caught his attention. Now he walked back to the river's edge. He walked downstream until he came a small cove. He turned and looked back toward the camp. The white soldier guarding this side of the camp was leaning against a tree, fast asleep. No one in the camp was moving. Everyone was sleeping soundly. Old Beaver Tail walked down to the water's edge and pulled off his clothes. He stuck one foot into the river and flinched as the cold water cover his foot and came up his leg half way to his knee. He stepped into the water with his other foot. The water was so cold he did not know if he could stand it. Then he thought, "Young Bear must have the food that I will find in the water." This thought drove him on into the river. As he waded out the water came almost to his waist. He moved slowly, searching the mud at the bottomof the cove with his feet. He felt something with his toes and reached into the water with his hand and pulled out an object covered with mud. Rapidly back and forth in the water he washed away the mud. Looking at what he held in his hand and he knew he had been right. His eyes had not deceived him in the dusk last night. In his hand he held a lilly tuber. When roasted in the fire or boiled it would taste like the white man's potato. His people had been harvesting these tubers as food for hundreds of years. Old Beaver Tail kept moving around in the frigid water. Many times he reached down into the water to pull out one of the tubers. Each time he would wash them and throw they to the river. When he had enough for several days he walked to the river bank and stepped out of the water. He was very cold now. he shook off the water as well as he could and put his clothes on. He picked up the tubers and put them into a small bag he carried. he knew he must hurry now. he had to get back to the camp site and build up the fire. he must warm his cold body. As he walked back he could see the camp was beginning to stir. The people were waking up. Even the white soldier guard was awake now. He walked through the camp to where he had left Young Bear. As he neared his campsite he could see smoke curling up. He knew his grandson was awake and building up the fire as he had taught him. Soon he would teach the boy how to cook the tubers. When he came closer he saw water was beginning to boil in the pot over the fire. He sat down close to the fire so the slight breeze that was blowing would bring the heat to his thoroughly chilled body. After he had sat for a few minutes he opened his bag to show his treasure to the boy. As Young Bear looked into the bag he frowned. He did not recognize the tubers. He had never seen anything like this before and did not know what they were. Old Beaver Tail smiled at the boy and pulled some of the tubers from the bag. he took out his knife and started cutting the tubers into small pieces and dropping then into the boiling water. As he cut them he told Young Bear what they were and where he had gotten them. he told him how the people had eaten them for many years before the white man had come to their land. As the contents of the pot boiled he added some of the herbs he carried in his pouch. After he had warmed himself he walked away to get their rations for the day. When he returned he had started to shiver again. Again, he took his place by the fire. He took the pot off the fire and mashed the now soft tubers with the end of a stick. They now had a thick gruel much like the white man's potato soup. Old Beaver Tail poured a large portion into Young Bear's bowl and then filled his own bowl. He showed his grandson how to drink the liquid from the bowl. Young Bear looked at his grandfather and cautiously took a sip. Old Beaver Tail saw the boy's face light up as he had his first taste. Young Bear thought it was the best thing he had ever tasted. He thought his grandfather must have been the smartest person he had ever seen. It gave the old man great pleasure to watch the boy. He took a sip from the bowl he cupped in his hands. The warmth of the bowl felt good to his cold fingers. He continued to sip slowly from the bowl letting the hot soup warm his stomach. He could feel the warmth flow through his body. He had finally stopped shivering. He knew Young Bear would eat well for at least three or four days. In that time he must find something else to feed his grandson. He knew the Great Spirit was watching over them and a way would be found. He would keep his eyes open and stay alert for any opportunity. But for now there was another day to walk. The white soldier's bugle horn was blowing. The people were struggling to their feet. He arose, put out the fire, and with his grandson, Young Bear, by his side, stepped off for the start of the day.
