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It is a beautiful morning in Indian Summer, and White Doe is out in her birch bark canoe, engaged in a fishing expedition for food. She paddles home under the overhanging trees and vines, lights the small fire in front of her tepee and cooks her primitive breakfast. The air is bracing, the birds are singing, life is free and good. Also White Doe is happy for she had caught a gleam of admiration in the eyes of a stalwart cowboy, when she visited a ranch a few days before with her offering of plaited baskets and the famous blankets of her Navajo tribe. She begins her work of basket weaving, dreaming the love dreams of her people and her heart singing with coquetry and the happiness of conquest, for she is also loved by a brave of her tribe, a wealthy son of a chief with a hundred horses.
