PROFESSOR JOE—A STORY OF THE SIOUX. 
By SAMUEL PARKER. 
One fine morning in the spring of ’81 found 
me mounted on a spirited Indian pony and gal- 
loping along the river trail leading north from 
Cheyenne Agency, Dakota, to Standing Rock. 
{t was the month of April and the first shy to- 
kens of spring were visible in the tender green 
of the slowly unfolding leaves of the cotton- 
woods and river osiers in the bottom lands, and 
in the vivid streaks of verdure along the mar- 
gins of the sheltered water courses which 
threaded their musical way among the great 
yellow marl bluffs overlooking the turbial Mis- 
souri. A steady canter of about two hours 
brought me to the Cheyenne, the queen of all 
the Dakota rivers, the gleaming waters ot 
which, from its junction with the Missouri, 
stretched away through a succession of cotton- 
wood and willow groves, until its glancing 
pathway was lost to view in the far blue dis- 
tance to the westward. 
A large party of Sioux were encamped among 
the trees in the river valley with their ponies 
grazing along the banks, and among the wil- 
lows in close proximity to the main village a 
number of little girls in variegated costumes of 
brilliant colors were busy as a colony of beav- 
ers, fashoning miniature wigwams of about the 
proportions of muskrat houses by bending and 
weaving together in a very ingenious manner 
the tops of willows and covering the frames 
thus constructed with blankets and shawls. 
Their animated conversation and ripples of 
musical laughter, as they went about their 
juvenile pastime, mingling pleasantly with the 
harmony of the prattling river and the contagi- 
ous levity of the larks and blackbirds which, 
from the clumps of killickinick, were cheering 
the valley with their delightful whistling. 
While fording the river, which was consider- 
ably swollen from the recent melting of the 
snow, my attention was attracted to an Indian 
on the opposite bank, and who was evidently 
awaiting my approach. He was mounted ona 
pony and a hunting bow with a handsomely 
decorated quiver containing his arrows was 
slung across his back. The Indian proved to 
be Roaming Bear, a handsome young brave of 
superb physical proportions, and whom I readily 
recognized by the waviness of his long raven 
hair, a peculiarity universal among the red 
men. 
Water fowl were plentiful in the lowlands 
along the river, and Roaming Bear's destina- 
tion was a certain bayou, lying on my route 
and distant about two miles above, where he 
expected to bag a few wild geese and ducks. 
In response to my query as to why he was 
armed with only the ancient weapon of his 
people, Roaming Bear launched forth into a 
very lugubrious account of a mishap which 
had but recently befallen him, and which had 
resulted in the loss of his favorite rifle. Ona 
ratt of his own construction, hastily improvised 
from drift-wood, Roaming Bear, with his rifle 
and his winter catch of turs, consisting of sev- 
eral bales of wolf, wildcat and beaver, had at- 
tempted to cross the Moreau River. The 
stream was swift and angry; the raft had col- 
lapsed, consigning Roaming Bear, his rifle and 
cargo of fur to the icy clutches of the Moreau. 
The furs had been recovered, but the maza- 
wakan (spirit iron) had plumped to the bottom, 
leaving Roaming Bear minus a Winchester, 
and as a result of all of which his ‘‘heart was 
very had.” 
While galloping leisurely along a sudden 
turn of the trail brought us into the midst of a 
densely populated town of prairie dogs, and 
my ineffectual attempts to bag one of the frisky 
denizens with a small pocket revolver proved 
sufficiently diverting to provoke a grim smile 
on the hitherto imperturbable countenance of 
‘Roaming Bear, who presently unslung his bow 
and favored me with an exhibition of his skill 
as an accomplished archer by impaling a dog 
on his shaft at a distance of about forty yards, 
without dismounting from his pony. The 
bayou alluded to soon hove into view, and a 
large flock of mallard ducks were feeding 
among the rushes on the farther shore. Being 
desirous of witnessing another display of the 
Indian’s marksmanship, I withdrew with my 
