With legs rigid and his spine quivering Kazan approached the opening to the tepee.

He looked in.

In the middle of the tepee, lying on the charred embers of a fire, lay a ragged blanket--and in the blanket was wrapped the body of a little Indian child.

Kazan could see the tiny moccasined feet.

But so long had death been there that he could scarcely smell the presence of it.