Francis Parlcman 241 



darting its light to the very apex of the tall coni 

 cal structure, where the tops of the slender poles 

 that supported the covering of hide were gathered 

 together. It gilded the features of the Indians, 

 as with animated gestures they sat around it, tell 

 ing their endless stories of war and hunting, and 

 displayed rude garments of skins that hung around 

 the lodge ; the bow, quiver, and lance suspended 

 over the resting place of the chief, and the rifles 

 and powderhorns of the two white guests. For 

 a moment all would be bright as day ; then the 

 flames would die out ; fitful flashes from the embers 

 would illumine the lodge, and then leave it in dark 

 ness. Then the light would wholly fade, and the 

 lodge and all within it be involved again in ob 

 scurity.&quot; From stories of war and the chase the 

 conversation was now and then diverted to philo 

 sophic themes. When Parkman asked what makes 

 the thunder, various opinions were expressed ; but 

 one old wrinkled fellow, named Red Water, assev 

 erated that he had always known what it was. 

 &quot; It was a great black bird ; and once he had seen 

 it in a dream swooping down from the Black Hills, 

 with its loud roaring wings ; and when it flapped 

 them over a lake, they struck lightning from the 

 water.&quot; Another old man said that the wicked 

 thunder had killed his brother last summer, but 



