IT is true I have been in Shoshone Land, 

 but before that, long before, I had seen it 

 through the eyes of Winnenap' in a rosy 

 mist of reminiscence, and must always see 

 it with a sense of intimacy in the light that 

 never was. Sitting on the golden slope at 

 the campoodie, looking across the Bitter 

 Lake to the purple tops of Mutarango, the 

 medicine-man drew up its happy places 

 one by one, like little blessed islands in a 

 sea of talk. For he was born a Shoshone, 

 was Winnenap' ; and though his name, his 

 wife, his children, and his tribal relations 

 were of the Paiutes, his thoughts turned 

 homesickly toward Shoshone Land. Once 

 a Shoshone always a Shoshone. Winne- 

 nap' lived gingerly among the Paiutes and 

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