ed bull-berry bushes, while the bare spots were purple with the
wild Dakota crocuses.

Upon the lowest of a series of natural terraces there stood on this May
morning a young Sioux girl, whose graceful movements were not unlike
those of a doe which chanced to be lurking in a neighboring gulch. On
the upper plains, not far away, were her young companions, all busily
employed with the wewoptay, as it was called--the sharp-pointed stick
with which the Sioux women dig wild turnips. They were gayly gossiping
together, or each humming a love-song as she worked, only Snana stood
somewhat apart from the rest; in fact, concealed by the crest of the
ridge.

She had paused in her digging and stood facing the sun-kissed buttes.
Above them in the clear blue sky the father sun was traveling upward as
in haste, while to her receptive spirit there appealed an awful, unknown
force, the silent speech of the Great Mystery, to which it seemed to her
the whole world must be listening!

"O Great Mystery! the father of earthly things is coming to quicken
us into life. Have pity on me, I pray thee! May I some day become the
mother of a great and brave race of warriors!" So the maiden prayed
silently.

It was now full-born day. The sun shone hot upon the bare ground, and
the drops stood upon Snana's forehead as she plied her long pole. There
was a cool spring in the dry creek bed near by, well hidden by a clump
of chokecherry bushes, and she turned thither to cool her thirsty
throat. In the depths of the ravine her eye caught a familiar
footprint--the track of a doe with the young fawn beside it. The hunting
instinct arose within.

"It will be a great feat if I can find and take from her the babe. The
little tawny skin shall be beautifully dressed by my mother. The legs
and the nose shall be embossed with porcupine quills. It will be my
work-bag," she said to herself.

As she stole forward on the fresh trail she scanned every nook, every
clump of bushes. There was a sudden rustle from within a grove of wild
plum trees, thickly festooned with grape and clematis, and the doe
mother bounded away as carelessly as if she were never to return.

Ah, a mother's ruse! Snana entered the thorny enclosure, which was
almost a rude teepee, and, tucked away in the furthermost corner, lay
something with a trout-like, speckled, tawny coat. She bent over it.
The fawn was apparently sleeping. Presently its eyes moved a bit, and a
shiver passed through it