medicine man (meaning myself) how he lost the power of speech when
he first tried to court a girl." Two Strike, although he was then close
to eighty years of age, was visibly embarrassed by their chaff.

"Anyway, I stuck to the trail. I kept on till I got what I wanted," he
muttered. And then came the story.

The old chief, his father, was very fond of the buffalo hunt; and
being accomplished in horsemanship and a fine shot, although not very
powerfully built, young Two Strike was already following hard in his
footsteps. Like every proud father, his was giving him every incentive
to perfect his skill, and one day challenged his sixteen-year-old son to
the feat of "one arrow to kill" at the very next chase.

It was midwinter. A large herd of buffalo was reported by the game
scout. The hunters gathered at daybreak prepared for the charge. The
old chief had his tried charger equipped with a soft, pillow-like Indian
saddle and a lariat. His old sinew-backed hickory bow was examined and
strung, and a fine straight arrow with a steel head carefully selected
for the test. He adjusted a keen butcher knife over his leather belt,
which held a warm buffalo robe securely about his body. He wore neither
shirt nor coat, although a piercing wind was blowing from the northwest.
The youthful Two Strike had his favorite bow and his swift pony, which
was perhaps dearer to him than his closest boy comrade.

Now the hunters crouched upon their horses' necks like an army in line
of battle, while behind them waited the boys and old men with pack
ponies to carry the meat. "Hukahey!" shouted the leader as a warning.
"Yekiya wo!" (Go) and in an instant all the ponies leaped forward
against the cutting wind, as if it were the start in a horse race. Every
rider leaned forward, tightly wrapped in his robe, watching the flying
herd for an opening in the mass of buffalo, a chance to cut out some of
the fattest cows. This was the object of the race.

The chief had a fair start; his horse was well trained and needed no
urging nor guidance. Without the slightest pull on the lariat he dashed
into the thickest of the herd. The youth's pony had been prancing and
rearing impatiently; he started a little behind, yet being swift passed
many. His rider had one clear glimpse of his father ahead of him, then
the snow arose in blinding clouds on the trail of the bison. The whoops
of the hunters, the lowing of the cows, and the menacing glances of the
bulls a