John wondered if the occupant would prove to be friendly should he return to find a complete stranger inside. He wished that he had some light to examine the cave in more detail. As soon as the thought came to him, the Branch of Power - as he now called it - in his belt gave off a blue glow, filling the cave with a dim, eerie light. He took the branch from his waistband and used it like a primitive torch, by the light of which he was able to see that the walls were covered with cave paintings of animals and hunting scenes. But standing out from the rest was one particular painting which showed a man with a large axe in one hand, while in the other he held a cord which was looped round the neck of a gigantic wolf. Could this be a painting of the two distant figures he had seen from his vantage point on the ridge? He wondered again if they were following him. If only Dad were here.
      Extinguishing the torch by a mere thought, he tucked the Branch of Power back in his waistband as he went back to the mouth of the cave and looked out across the saddle of the ridge, but there was no-one on it. As he breathed a sigh of relief he heard the flapping of wings and looked up to see the buzzard fly past above his head. He watched as it disappeared behind the outcrop of rock on his left.
      Feeling somewhat safer now, and overcome by tiredness, he re-entered the cave and lay down on the rock bed, covering himself with the rough blanket. Strangely, the rock he was lying on was surprisingly soft and comfortable and the blanket made him feel as warm as toast. He had put the Branch of Power between himself and the wall and soon he was fast asleep.
      How long he slept he had no way of knowing, but he awoke with a start to find a large, muscular figure bending over him.
      The man peered at John in the gloom of the cave. He exuded a strange odour, which John was unable to place. His trousers were made out of some kind of skin and he had moccasins on his feet. He wore no shirt. That was all John could make out in the dimness, apart from the size of the man. To say that he was big was an understatement.
      The man pulled the blanket aside and said: "Come."
      He beckoned John to follow him as he walked to the cave entrance and stepped outside. It is not prudent to argue with a man that size, so John obeyed the summons and followed him, first picking up the Branch of Power and tucking it into his belt.
      After the dimness of the cave, John blinked a few times as he became accustomed to the strong light outside.
      The man was sitting cross-legged on the ground with his back to the rock. His features resembled those of a Native American but there was something strange about him. His eyes were brown and piercing and he had a hooked nose over thin, cruel lips. His shoulder length hair was black and greasy and his skin was the colour of bronze. Well over six feet tall, he had broad shoulders and muscles that would be the envy of any body builder. He motioned to John to sit beside him.
      "I am Soaring Bird," he said. "What name do you go by?"
      "My name is John Cameron."
      "Why are you here? Why have you embarked on this journey?"
      John did not know how to reply. He tried to think what his dad would do if he was in his shoes. If only he was here to help him now, to speak up for him, to advise him. Dad always said that the truth, no matter how painful, was best in the long run. So he decided to be truthful.
      "I don't know. It was just curiosity, I suppose."
      "Not so," said Soaring Bird. "There is always a reason, a purpose behind all things. What do you hope to find on this vision quest? What do you seek?"
      John didn't know he was on a 'vision quest', whatever that was, and had certainly no idea what he was seeking. He hadn't realised he was seeking anything.
      "I really don't know," replied John.
      "Then your journey will be more perilous. What talisman brought you here?"
      John took the feather from his pocket and showed it to Soaring Bird who looked at it closely. His jaw set and he scowled as if he could see something he had no wish to see. He lifted his eyes from the feather to John's face. For a few moments he stared hard as if searching for something, then he grunted, the scowl faded and a softness came into his eyes.
      "The road you travel is a hard road, but since you bear a talisman of the Bird People of River Bend, I will do what I can to help you," he said.
      "Can I ask you something?" John said, putting the feather back in his pocket.
      "Speak."
      "There is a picture in the cave. One of a man and the large wolf. Who is he?"
      "The man's name is not known to us, but we call him the Hunter. His wolf is named Fear-of-Man. They are bad medicine, evil. Why do you ask?"
      "I think they could be following me."
      "Then I think we should go before they get here. Jump on my back and hold on tightly," said Soaring Bird, as he moved from his sitting position to a crouch. It reminded John of the way his dad would crouch down to let him clamber on to his back when he was little.
      "Come." There was a certain urgency in Soaring Bird's voice.
      John did as he was told. He climbed onto Soaring Bird's broad back, put his arms round his neck and held on tightly. Just like the times when he was a child and his dad would carry him in this fashion when he got tired or his feet hurt.
      Soaring Bird carried him along the path to a place where the ledge overlooked a precipice, which fell sheer into the valley that John had seen at the foot of the steep side of the ridge. Then he saw what the big Indian must have sensed. The Hunter and Fear-of-Man had started the descent down the saddle of the ridge. He saw them at the same time as Soaring Bird threw himself off the edge of the cliff into the void.