then all were eager to know what had become of the rest of my party. I satisfied them on this point, and we all moved forward together toward the village. "You've missed it," said Reynal; "if you'd been 50 here day before yesterday, you'd have found the whole prairie over yonder black with buffalo as far as you could see. There were no cows, though; nothing but bulls. We made a 'surround' every day till yesterday. See the village there; don't 55 that look like good living!" In fact, I could see, even at that distance, that long cords were stretched from lodge to lodge, over which the meat, cut by the squaws into thin sheets, was hanging to dry in the sun. 60 "What chiefs are there in the village now?" said I. "Well," said Reynal, "there's old Red Water, and The Eagle Feather, and The Big Crow, and The Mad Wolf, and The Panther, and The White Shield, and - what's his name? - the half-breed Chey-65 enne." By this time we were close to the village, and I observed that while the greater part of the lodges were very large and neat in their appearance, there was at one side a cluster of squalid, miserable huts. I70 looked toward them, and made some remark about their wretched appearance. But I was touching upon delicate ground. "My squaw's relations live in those lodges," said 75 Reynal, very warmly, "and there isn't a better set in the whole village." 80 85 "Are there any chiefs among them?" asked I. "Their names? Why, there's The Arrow Head. If he isn't a chief, he ought to be one. And there's The Hail Storm. He's nothing but a boy, to be sure; but he's bound to be a chief one of these days!" Just then we passed between two of the lodges, and entered the great area of the village. Superb naked figures stood silently gazing on us. "Where's the Bad Wound's lodge?" said I to Reynal. 90 "There, you've missed it again! The Bad Wound is away with The Whirlwind. If you could have found him here, and gone to live in his lodge, he would have treated you better than any man in the village. But there's The Big Crow's lodge yonder, 95 next to old Red Water's. He's a good Indian for the whites, and I advise you to go and live with him." "Are there many squaws and children in his lodge?" said I. "No; only one squaw and two or three children. 100 He keeps the rest in a separate lodge by themselves." So, still followed by a crowd of Indians, Raymond and I rode up to the entrance of The Big Crow's lodge. A squaw came out immediately and took our horses. I put aside the leather flap that covered the low opening, and, stooping, entered The Big 105 Crow's dwelling. There I could see the chief in the dim light, seated at one side, on a pile of buffalo robes. He greeted me with a guttural "How cola!" I requested Reynal to tell him that Raymond and I were come to live with him. The Big Crow gave another 110 low exclamation. If the reader thinks that we were intruding1 somewhat cavalierly,2 I beg him to observe that every Indian in the village would have deemed himself honored that white men should give such preference to his hospitality. 115 The squaw spread a buffalo robe for us in the guest's place at the head of the lodge. Our saddles were brought in, and scarcely were we seated upon them before the place was thronged with Indians who came crowding in to see us. The Big Crow produced 120 his pipe and filled it with the mixture of tobacco and shongsasha, or red willow bark. Round and round it passed, and a lively conversation went forward. Meanwhile a squaw placed before the two guests a wooden bowl of boiled buffalo meat, but unhappily 125 this was not the only banquet destined to be inflicted on us. Rapidly one after another, boys and young squaws thrust their heads in at the opening, to invite us to various feasts in different parts of the village. For half an hour or more we were actively engaged 130 1 Intruding, forcing ourselves upon them. 2 Cavalierly, rudely. in passing from lodge to lodge, tasting in each of the bowl of meat set before us, and inhaling a whiff or two from our entertainer's pipe. A thunderstorm that had been threatening for some time now began 135 in good earnest. We crossed over to Reynal's lodge, though it hardly deserved this name, for it consisted only of a few old buffalo robes, supported on poles, and was quite open on one side. Here we sat down, and the Indians gathered round us. 140 "What is it,” said I, "that makes the thunder?" "It's my belief," said Reynal, "that it is a big stone rolling over the sky." "Very likely," I replied; "but I want to know what the Indians think about it." 145 So he interpreted my question, which seemed to produce some doubt and debate. There was evidently a difference of opinion. At last old Mene Seela, or Red Water, who sat by himself at one side, looked up with his withered face, and said he had 150 always known what the thunder was. It was 155 a great black bird; and once he had seen it, in a dream, swooping down from the Black Hills, with its loud roaring wings; and when it flapped them over a lake, they struck lightning from the water. "The thunder is bad," said another old man, who sat muffled in his buffalo robe; "he killed my brother last summer." Reynal, at my request, asked for an explanation; but the old man remained doggedly silent, and would not look up. Some time after I learned how the 160 accident occurred. The man who was killed belonged to an association which, among other mystic functions, claimed the exclusive power and privilege of fighting the thunder. Whenever a storm which they wished to avert was threatening, the thunder 165 fighters would take their bows and arrows, their guns, their magic drum, and a sort of whistle, made out of the wing bone of the war eagle. Thus equipped, they would run out and fire at the rising cloud, whooping, yelling, whistling, and beating their drum, to 170 frighten it down again. One afternoon a heavy black cloud was coming up, and they repaired to the top of a hill, where they brought all their magic artillery into play against it. But the undaunted thunder, refusing to be terrified, kept moving straight 175 onward, and darted out a bright flash which struck one of the party dead, as he was in the very act of shaking his long iron-pointed lance against it. The rest scattered and ran yelling in an ecstasy of superstitious terror back to their lodges. 180 The lodge of my host, Kongra Tongo, or The Big Crow, presented a picturesque spectacle that evening. A score or more of Indians were seated around in a circle, their dark, naked forms just visible by the dull light of the smoldering fire in the center, the 185 pipe glowing brightly in the gloom as it passed from hand to hand round the lodge. Then a squaw would drop a piece of buffalo fat on the dull embers, In |