AT THE FEAST OF THE DOG DANCE 

 THE WAY OF ARABELLA HORSE- 

 TAIL 



]NCE an Indian, always 

 an Indian. No matter 

 how the " Great White 

 Father ' ' may pinch and 

 pound the clay, its 

 shape may alter, it is 

 still red clay. It was at the Feast 

 of the Dog Dance that I realised 

 this in learning the story of Arabella 

 Horsetail. 



The three o'clock recess bell had 

 not stopped sounding when a figure 

 in brown calico, sprigged with white, 



