k Cloud; he's only a
half-blood Injun for one thing, his father bein' a buffalo-man (negro)
who's j'ined the Osages, an' Sunbright don't take kindly to his nose
which is some flatter than the best rools of Osage beauty demands; an'
likewise thar's kinks in his ha'r. Still, Sunbright sort o' keeps her
aversions to herse'f, an' if it ain't for what follows she most likely
would have travelled to her death-blankets an' been given a seat on a
hill with a house of rocks built 'round her--the same bein' the usual
burial play of a Osage--without Black Cloud ever saveyin' that so far
from interestin' Sunbright, he only makes her tired.

"Over south from Black Cloud's Greyhoss camp an' across the Arkansaw
an' some'ers between the Polecat an' the Cimmaron thar's livin' a young
Creek buck called the Lance. He's straight an' slim an' strong as the
weepon he's named for; an' he like Black Cloud is a medicine sharp of
cel'bration an' stands way up in the papers. The Creeks is never weary
of talkin' about the Lance an' what a marvel as a medicine man he is;
also, by way of insultin' the Osages, they declar's onhesitatin' that
the Lance lays over Black Cloud like four tens, an' offers to bet
hosses an' blankets an' go as far as the Osages likes that this is troo.

"By what Strike Axe informs me,--an' he ain't none likely to overplay
in his statements--by what Strike Axe tells me, I says, the Lance must
shore have been the high kyard as a medicine man. Let it get dark with
the night an' no moon in the skies, an' the Lance could take you-all
into his medicine lodge, an' you'd hear the sperits flappin' their
pinions like some one flappin' a blanket, an' thar'd be whisperin's an'
goin's on outside the lodge an' in, while fire-eyes would show an' burn
an' glower up in the peak of the teepee; an' all plenty skeary an'
mystifiyin'. Besides these yere accomplishments the Lance is one of
them mesmerism sports who can set anamiles to dreamin'. He could call
a coyote or a fox, or even so fitful an' nervous a prop'sition as a
antelope; an' little by little, snuffin' an' snortin', or if it's a
coyote, whinin', them beasts would approach the Lance ontil they're
that clost he'd tickle their heads with his fingers while they stands
shiverin' an' sweatin' with apprehensions. You can put a bet on it,
son, that accordin' to this onbiassed buck, Strike Axe, the Lance is
ondoubted the big medicine throughout the Injun range.

"As might be assoomed