east of
burden, a large dog, had died during the night.

This made it necessary to shift the packs of the others. Nakpa, or Long
Ears, her kittenlike gray mule, which had heretofore been honored with
the precious burden of the twin babies, was to be given a heavier and
more cumbersome load. Weeko's two-year-old spotted pony was selected to
carry the babies.

Accordingly, the two children, in their gorgeously beaded buckskin
hoods, were suspended upon either side of the pony's saddle. As Weeko's
first-born, they were beautifully dressed; even the saddle and bridle
were daintily worked by her own hands.

The caravan was now in motion, and Weeko started all her ponies after
the leader, while she adjusted the mule's clumsy burden of kettles and
other household gear. In a moment:

"Go on, let us see how you move with your new load! Go on!" she
exclaimed again, with a light blow of the horse-hair lariat, as the
animal stood perfectly still.

Nakpa simply gave an angry side glance at her load and shifted her
position once or twice. Then she threw herself headlong into the air and
landed stiff-legged, uttering at the same time her unearthly protest.
First she dove straight through the crowd, then proceeded in a circle,
her heels describing wonderful curves and sweeps in the air. Her
pack, too, began to come to pieces and to take forced flights from her
undignified body and heels, in the midst of the screams of women and
children, the barking of dogs, and the war-whoops of the amused young
braves.

The cowskin tent became detached from her saddle, and a moment later
Nakpa stood free. Her sides worked like a bellows as she stood there
meekly indignant, apparently considering herself to be the victim of an
uncalled-for misunderstanding.

"I should put an arrow through her at once, only she is not worth a
good arrow," said Shunkaska, or White Dog, the husband of Weeko. At his
wife's answer, he opened his eyes in surprised displeasure.

"No, she shall have her own pack again. She wants her twins. I ought
never to have taken them from her!"

Weeko approached Nakpa as she stood alone and unfriended in the face
of her little world, all of whom considered that she had committed the
unpardonable sin. As for her, she evidently felt that her misfortunes
had not been of her own making. She gave a hesitating, sidelong look at
her mistress.

"Nakpa, you should not have acted so. I knew you were stronger than the
others, therefor