bones.

"OLD-man couldn't stop them, because he was hurt, you see; but it all
came about through lying and killing more meat than he needed. Yes--he
lied and that is bad, but his hands got to quarrelling between
themselves, and family quarrels are always bad. Do not lie; do not
quarrel. It is bad. Ho!"

WHY THE NIGHT-HAWK'S WINGS ARE BEAUTIFUL

I was awakened by the voice of the camp-crier, and although it was yet
dark I listened to his message.

The camp was to move. All were to go to the mouth of the Maria's--"The
River That Scolds at the Other"--the Indians call this stream, that
disturbs the waters of the Missouri with its swifter flood.

On through the camp the crier rode, and behind him the lodge-fires
glowed in answer to his call. The village was awake, and soon the
thunder of hundreds of hoofs told me that the pony-bands were being
driven into camp, where the faithful were being roped for the journey.
Fires flickered in the now fading darkness, and down came the lodges as
though wizard hands had touched them. Before the sun had come to light
the world, we were on our way to "The River That Scolds at the Other."

Not a cloud was in the sky, and the wind was still. The sun came and
touched the plains and hilltops with the light that makes all wild
things glad. Here and there a jack-rabbit scurried away, often
followed by a pack of dogs, and sometimes, though not often, they were
overtaken and devoured on the spot. Bands of graceful antelope bounded
out of our way, stopping on a knoll to watch the strange procession
with wondering eyes, and once we saw a dust-cloud raised by a moving
herd of buffalo, in the distance.

So the day wore on, the scene constantly changing as we travelled.
Wolves and coyotes looked at us from almost every knoll and hilltop;
and sage-hens sneaked to cover among the patches of sage-brush,
scarcely ten feet away from our ponies. Toward sundown we reached a
grove of cottonwoods near the mouth of the Maria's, and in an
incredibly short space of time the lodges took form. Soon, from out
the tops of a hundred camps, smoke was curling just as though the
lodges had been there always, and would forever remain.

As soon as supper was over I found the children, and together we sought
War Eagle's lodge. He was in a happy mood and insisted upon smoking
two pipes before commencing his story-telling. At last he said:

"To-night I shall tell you why the Nighthawk wears fine cl