asked him.

"No," he replied, with a long sigh. "It is the worst time of year to go
on the war-path. We shall have plenty of fighting this summer, as we are
going to trench upon their territory in our hunts," he added.

The night was clear and pleasant. The war drum was answered by the howls
of coyotes on the opposite side of the Mouse river. I was in the throng,
watching the braves who were about to go out in search of glory. "I wish
I were old enough; I would surely go with this party," I thought. My
friend Tatanka was to go. He was several years older than I, and a
hero in my eyes. I watched him as he danced with the rest until nearly
midnight. Then I came back to our teepee and rolled myself in my buffalo
robe and was soon lost in sleep.

Suddenly I was aroused by loud war cries. "'Woo! woo! hay-ay! hay-ay! U
we do! U we do!'" I jumped upon my feet, snatched my bow and arrows and
rushed out of the teepee, frantically yelling as I went.

"Stop! stop!" screamed Uncheedah, and caught me by my long hair.

By this time the Gros Ventres had encircled our camp, sending volleys
of arrows and bullets into our midst. The women were digging ditches in
which to put their children.

My uncle was foremost in the battle. The Sioux bravely withstood the
assault, although several of our men had already fallen. Many of the
enemy were killed in the field around our teepees. The Sioux at last got
their ponies and made a counter charge, led by Oyemakasan (my uncle).
They cut the Gros Ventre party in two, and drove them off.

My friend Tatanka was killed. I took one of his eagle feathers, thinking
I would wear it the first time that I ever went upon the war-path. I
thought I would give anything for the opportunity to go against the Gros
Ventres, because they killed my friend. The war songs, the wailing for
the dead, the howling of the dogs was intolerable to me. Soon after this
we broke up our camp and departed for new scenes.

III. Wild Harvests

WHEN our people lived in Minnesota, a good part of their natural
subsistence was furnished by the wild rice, which grew abundantly in all
of that region. Around the shores and all over some of the innumerable
lakes of the "Land of Sky-blue Water" was this wild cereal found.
Indeed, some of the watery fields in those days might be compared
in extent and fruitfulness with the fields of wheat on Minnesota's
magnificent farms to-day.

The wild rice harvesters came in groups of fif