st with a loud report like thunder. Uncheedah was busy
re-stringing one of uncle's old snow-shoes. There were two different
kinds that he wore; one with a straight toe and long; the other shorter
and with an upturned toe. She had one of the shoes fastened toe down,
between sticks driven into the ground, while she put in some new strings
and tightened the others. Aunt Four Stars was beading a new pair of
moccasins.

Wabeda, the dog, the companion of my boyhood days, was in trouble
because he insisted upon bringing his extra bone into the teepee, while
Uncheedah was determined that he should not. I sympathized with him,
because I saw the matter as he did. If he should bury it in the snow
outside, I knew Shunktokecha (the coyote) would surely steal it. I knew
just how anxious Wabeda was about his bone. It was a fat bone--I mean a
bone of a fat deer; and all Indians know how much better they are than
the other kind.

Wabeda always hated to see a good thing go to waste. His eyes spoke
words to me, for he and I had been friends for a long time. When I was
afraid of anything in the woods, he would get in front of me at once and
gently wag his tail. He always made it a point to look directly in my
face. His kind, large eyes gave me a thousand assurances. When I was
perplexed, he would hang about me until he understood the situation.
Many times I believed he saved my life by uttering the dog word in time.

Most animals, even the dangerous grizzly, do not care to be seen when
the two-legged kind and his dog are about. When I feared a surprise by
a bear or a grey wolf, I would say to Wabeda: "Now, my dog, give your
war-whoop:" and immediately he would sit up on his haunches and bark
"to beat the band" as you white boys say. When a bear or wolf heard the
noise, he would be apt to retreat.

Sometimes I helped Wabeda and gave a warwhoop of my own. This drove the
deer away as well, but it relieved my mind.

When he appealed to me on this occasion, therefore, I said: "Come, my
dog, let us bury your bone so that no Shunktokecha will take it."

He appeared satisfied with my suggestion, so we went out together.

We dug in the snow and buried our bone wrapped up in a piece of old
blanket, partly burned; then we covered it up again with snow. We knew
that the coyote would not touch anything burnt. I did not put it up a
tree because Wabeda always objected to that, and I made it a point to
consult his wishes whenever I could.

I came