their man-made God. And because 

 they are many and my people few, 

 they say, 'We are right; do as we 

 do or die' and we die. 



"They killed my mother when 

 they tore me from her arms, her 

 one ewe lamb. 'Manita, Manita, I 

 cannot live without you!' I can 

 hear her last cry now, so long ago, 

 before Grey Wolf and Whiteswan 

 laid her away up there. 'Manita!' 

 Oh mother and they call me Ara- 

 bella Horsetail! Ugh, I hate them! " 



Manita sprang to her feet with 

 clenched hands, flaming cheeks, and 

 arms uplifted toward the tree. She 

 suddenly became aware of her sur- 

 roundings. The tree where her 

 mother had lain so long was empty, 

 and on the ground, not six feet from 

 where Manita had been lying, was a 

 long bundle with thongs cut and 

 wrappings undone, and protruding 

 from the mass of blankets was the 

 shrivelled, mummified remains of 

 her mother. 



She stood for a long time stunned, 

 gazing at the awful spectacle. Then 

 with a little shake, she began to think 

 again, but slowly and with difficulty 



