The old man sat silently beneath the big oak tree. His feet were drawn up close to him. His head rested on his knees. His hair was almost white, but had streaks of black throughout. To a passer-by he looked as if he was just taking a nap.
      Suddenly he raised his head and looked out across the valley. If you were observing him you would almost be able to see the wheels of his mind turning through years of memories already lived. He appeared to be very old, one hundred and five to one hundred and ten. His face was a rich mahogany and line like heavy leather. He had a very lean frame, almost to the point of being skinny. The only thing that seemed to be alive about him was his sparkling black eyes. They were very alert.
      He sat for awhile, his body stiff and as rigid as a statue. He neither moved nor blinked his eyes.                                                                                                                                         “Hmp!” he said. “Hmp! Here I sit like Chief Setting Bull! Setting here against this tree, waiting for the buzzards to come and pick my bones. Well, I’m not Chief Setting Bull! I’m me! Chief Yellow Feather!” he screamed, pounding upon his chest with his fist.
      “I have sat here rigid as a rock for forty-eight hours and I still live. I’m to young to die! I’m only one hundred years old. Hmp! That’s not old. Hmp! ‘Go to the dying tree my son said to me." “You’re too old,” he said  “You are no good for anything.”
      I’ll show him I’m still good for something. I can do the rain dance so well it will rain for so many days that my son will come and beg me to make it stop”
      The old man jumped up swiftly and began to dance around the oak tree.
      “Ha ya ya ya,” he sing “Ha ya ya ya, ha ya ya ya.”
      He had been dancing around the tree about ten minutes, when suddenly he stopped and looked around.
     “Hmp!” he said. “It hasn’t rained yet. Maybe I need to dance faster.”
      He began to dance faster and sing again. This time he was almost running. He stopped again and fell to the ground exhausted.
      “Well, maybe we don’t need rain after all,” the old man said wheezing and out of breath. “I know what I’ll do, I’ll pray to the Sun God to make me young again. “Ohhhhhhh Sunnnn God, just look at me, I such a nice man. Pleaseeee, Sun God, make me young again so my son will love me.”
      Plop! A big drop of rain hit the old man on the end of the nose. He looked up into the sky, to see what was happening. It began to ran so hard he could hardly see. Before he could get up and get to the protection of the tree, he was soaking wet.
      “Hmp, it doesn’t rain when I dance, but it rains when I pray to the Sun God. That Sun God is all mixed up,” he said excitedly.
      In his great haste to get to the tree, his foot slipped and he began to roll down the hill. When he stopped he descent, he realized he had rolled about half way from the top of the hill to the valley below. He rolled over and sat up, shaken. He shook his head as if to clear it. He thought he heard a scream. He turned and looked down the hill in the direction of the sound.
      “Oh, my goodness!” he yelled. “That is Little Flower, my son’s daughter. That bear is going to kill her for sure. When I was a boy I could throw a stone farther than any other Indian in the village. I should be able to hit that creature between the eyes, if I aim just right. Oh mighty Sun God, If you are not still mixed about the rain please let me hit that bear between the eyes.”
      He wound his arm around and around, and the stone went sailing through the air. Wham! The rock found its mark, right between the bears eyes. The big bear grunted a couple of times and fell to the ground. The old man ran as fast as his old legs could carry him down the hill. He took out his knife and stuck it in the vein in bear’s neck. The blood begin to gush out. Yellow Feather turned and ran to the girl. He picked up the four-year-old and carried her to the village below.
      Hi son, seeing the bear’s attack on the little girl, had started up the hill. Yellow Feather had reacted so swiftly that the bear was on ground before the son was half way up the hill. The son took the girl from his father and placed her in her mother’s arms. He then put his arms around his father and kissed both cheeks.
      “Father,” he said, “you are one brave chief. Had it not been for you, my daughter would be dead now. You shall never go to the dying tree again.”
      Hmp!” the old man said. “Hmp! I am, really good for something. Hmp! I provided the bears steaks for supper.”