t it had no effect upon the Fire Eater, who shortly arose
and approached him with his battle-ax. The man saw clearly now what
was to happen and buried his face in his hands. Too often had the
hunter-warrior stood over his fallen quarry to feel pity; he knew
no more of this than a bird of prey, and he sank his three-pronged
battle-ax into the soldier's skull and wiped it on his pony's shoulder
saying: "Another dog's head; I will leave him for the women and the
boys. If he had thrown away his iron moccasins his fire would not be
out. I give the meat to the little gray wolves and to the crows which
bring us messages from the spirit-world." And he resumed his mount.
Riding back, he saw the squaws swarming over the battlefield, but the
warriors had gone. Men that he met in the valley told him that they
had more soldiers surrounded in the bluffs up the valley, but that the
white-faces could not get away and that the Indians were coming back for
fresh ponies. Enough men had been left to hold the besieged.

Coming to his lodge he got a new pony, and, as he mounted, said to his
youngest wife: "Wan-ha-ya, give me my little boy: put him up behind me
on my pony. I will show him war."

The squaw held the chubling and put him on the desired place, where he
caught on like a burr. The Fire Eater made his way to the battle ground.
There the squaws were stripping and mutilating. Finding a dead soldier
who was naked, he dismounted, setting the boy on the ground. Pulling
his great knife from its buckskin sheath he curled the fat little hand
around its haft and led him to the white body. "Strike the enemy, little
son, strike like a warrior," and the Fire Eater, simulating a blow,
directed the small arm downward on the corpse. Comprehending the
idea, the infant drew up and drove down, doing his best to obey the
instructions, but his arm was far too weak to make the knife penetrate.
The fun of the thing made him scream with pleasure, and the old Fire
Eater chuckled at the idea of his little warrior's first _coup._ Then he
rode back to the lodge.

VIII. The Medicine-Fight of the Chis-chis-chash.

Hither and yon through the valleys dragged the wagon-soldiers, while the
Indians laughed at them from the hills. In the time of the yellow-grass
the tribe had made a successful hunt and the sides of their lodges were
piled high with dry meat. Their kettles would boil through this snow.

As the tops of the mountains grew white, the camp w