e
nameless leader had taken more than twice as many scalps as his
brother warriors. Then it was that a feeling of jealousy arose, which
was soon quieted, however, by the news that the Crow Indians had
stolen a number of horses and many valuable furs from a Sioux hunter
as he was returning from the mountains. Another warlike expedition was
planned, and as before, the nameless warrior took the lead.

The sun was near his setting, and as the Sioux party looked down upon
a Crow village, which occupied the centre of a charming valley, the
Sioux chief commanded the attention of his braves and addressed them
in the following language:

"I am about to die, my brothers, and must speak my mind. To be
fortunate in war is your chief ambition, and because I have been
successful you are unhappy. Is this right? Have you acted like men? I
despise you for your meanness, and I intend to prove to you this night
that I am the bravest man in the nation. The task will cost me my
life, but I am anxious that my nature should be changed and I shall be
satisfied. I intend to enter the Crow village alone, but before
departing, I have one favor to command. If I succeed in destroying
that village, and lose my life, I want you, when I am dead, to cut off
my head and protect it with care. You must then kill one of the
largest buffaloes in the country and cut off his head. You must then
bring his body and my head together, and breathe upon them, when I
shall be free to roam in the Spirit-land at all times, and over our
great Prairie-land wherever I please. And when your hearts are
troubled with wickedness remember the Lone Buffalo."

The attack upon the Crow village was successful, but according to his
prophecy the Lone Buffalo received his death wound, and his brother
warriors remembered his parting request. The fate of the hero's mother
is unknown, but the Indians believe that it is she who annually sends
from the Spirit-land the warm winds of spring, which cover the
prairies with grass for the sustenance of the Buffalo race. As to the
Lone Buffalo, he is never seen even by the most cunning hunter,
excepting when the moon is at its full. At such times he is invariably
alone, cropping his food in some remote part of the prairies; and
whenever the heavens resound with the moanings of the thunder, the
red-man banishes from his breast every feeling of jealousy, for he
believes it to be the warning voice of the Lone Buffalo.

THE ADOPTED CHILD