the chief raised the door of his teepee, and
joined his frightened household. Trembling and crouching to the ground
were the mothers and children, as the teepee shook from the force of the
wind. The young children hid their faces close against their mothers'
breasts. Every head was covered, to avoid the streaked lightning as it
glanced over the bent and terrified forms, that seemed to cling to the
earth for protection.

At the end of the village, almost on the edge of the high bluff that
towered above the river, rose a teepee, smaller than the rest. The open
door revealed the wasted form of Harpstenah, an aged woman.

Aged, but not with years! Evil had been the days of her pilgrimage.

The fire that had burned in the wigwam was all gone out, the dead ashes
lay in the centre, ever and anon scattered by the wind over the wretched
household articles that lay around. Gone out, too, were the flames that
once lighted with happiness the heart of Harpstenah.

The sorrows of earth, more pitiless than the winds of heaven, had
scattered forever the hopes that had made her a being of light and life.
The head that lies on the earth was once pillowed on the breast of the
lover of her youth. The arm that is heavily thrown from her once clasped
his children to her heart.

What if the rain pours in upon her, or the driving wind and hail scatter
her wild locks? She feels it not. Life is there, but the consciousness
of life is gone forever.

A heavier cloud hangs about her heart than that which darkens nature.
She fears not the thunder, nor sees the angry lightning. She has laid
upon the scaffold her youngest son, the last of the many ties that bound
her to earth.

One week before, her son entered the wigwam. He was not alone; his
comrade, "The Hail that Strikes," accompanied him.

Harpstenah had been tanning deer-skin near her door. She had planted two
poles firmly in the ground, and on them she had stretched the deer-skin.
With an iron instrument she constantly scraped the skin, throwing water
upon it. She had smoked it too, and now it was ready to make into
mocassins or leggins. She had determined, while she was tanning the
deer-skin, how she would embroider them. They should be richer and
handsomer even than those of their chief's son; nay, gayer than those
worn by the chief himself. She had beads and stained porcupine quills;
all were ready for her to sew.

The venison for the evening meal was cooked and placed in a wooden