the North and South got smoke 

 tears as well as smoke. Well, at least 

 the West was the end of all things. 

 I sat down feeling that I had earned 

 a brevet from the diplomatic service, 

 and as soon as possible sought the 

 air. 



I have never been able to place the 

 blame for the indescribable taste 

 of that pipe; to be sure I am not a 

 second Mrs. Buchanan and I had 

 never smoked a pipe before, so it 

 may have been any one or all of 

 those twelve braves, or it may have 

 been the innumerable previous cere- 

 monies, or the poor tobacco. Well, 

 it is a bygone. The moon had burst 

 through the clouds and the ride 

 back to Crow Agency was delightful, 

 and before the Dog Dance, two days 

 later, I was quite able to discriminate 

 between vinegar and mustard and 

 appreciate the graciousness of that 

 majestic old man with his feather- 

 ful record of exploits and his dignified 

 acceptance of national defeat. Long 

 may he couch on sage brush, talk in 

 sign language and write in picto- 

 graph ! Civilisation has nothing to 

 teach him. 



