Marcu 31, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
iets 

climbed the south slope of the valley and strung 
out over the plain. At such times Nat-ah’-ki 
and I frequently dropped behind and rode along 
a mile or more to the right or left of the trail 
on little side hunts. We were free to do this, 
for the good mother and her uncle’s family 
took charge of our pack and travois horses, and 
herded them along with their own. And when 
we came to camp in the evening we would find 
our lodge put up, the couches made, wood and 
water at hand, the tireless mother sitting by 
the fire awaiting our arrival. Sometimes Nar- 
ah’-ki would remonstrate with her for doing all 
this, but she would always say, “Young people 
should be happy. This my mother did for me 
when I was newly married. Some day you will 
likely be doing it for your daughter.” Which 
latter remark would cause the little woman to 
turn away in confusion, and she would pretend 
to be very busy about something. Alas! they 
thought that this carefree life was going to last 
forever. Even we white men little dreamed how 
soon the buffalo were to disappear. 
On this lovely morning we rode gradually and 
slowly obliquely away to the west until we were 
a couple of miles from the trail. Still further 
out we could see several hunters now and then, 
as they passed over a rise of ground, and oc- 
casionally the long column of the moving camp 
was in sight. Sometimes we loitered, letting 
our horses feed as they walked, and again we 
would start them into a lope and keep it up 
until we were well abreast of the others. Nat- 
ah’-ki kept up a ceaseless chatter of gossip and 
story and questions about the country from 
which I came. She was ever wanting to know 
about the wavs of white women, good and bad; 
and when I told some of the things I had 
known, had seen the bad ones do, she would be 
horrified and say over and over again, “Ter- 
rible, shameless! No Blackfoot woman would 
ever act like that.” 
Along toward noon we came to the head of 
a pine-clad coulée running into the far-away 
Judith, and in a little grove there was a small 
spring of clear, cold water. We drank, and 
then leading our animals up to the top of the 
slope, where we could obtain a good view of the 
surrounding country, we ate our lunch of bread, 
depuyer and dried meat. A kit fox came 
trotting over the bench opposite us, ran down 
the slope into the grove and to the spring, and 
presently it came out on our side, sniffing the 
air, undoubtedly having scented our food. It 
walked up to within thirty feet of us, stopped 
and stared at us and the grazing horses, then 
circled around and finally stretched out on its 
belly, head up, watching us intently, and fre- 
quently sniffing the air, curiously working its 
slender, delicately contoured nose. It was evi- 
dently reasoning like this, ‘““There is something 
to eat over by those strange looking animals. 
I’ll wait here a while, and nose around the place 
after they leave.” At least, that is what Nat- 
ah’-ki said the little creature was thinking, and 
I had reason to believe that in such matters she 
generally knew whereof she spoke. “Did I ever 
tell you,” she asked, “‘about my grandfather and 
his pet fox? No? Well, then, listen: 
“One night my grandfather’s dream com- 
manded him to catch a kit fox, tame it and be 
kind to it. He thought long over this, and 
counseled with others as to its meaning; but 
none could understand it any more than he. 
The next night his dream told him the same 
thing, and again on the third night, and lastly 
on the fourth night. Four times his dreams 
commanded him to do this. Four is the sacred 
number. When he arose the fourth morning he 
knew that he must obey his dream. He no 
longer asked why, nor what was meant, but 
after eating went out to catch a fox. There 
were many foxes; every little way as he walked 
he saw them running onward or sitting by their 
dens, into which they disappeared as he drew 
near. He had a long lariat, to an end of which 
he had tied a length of fine buckskin string. 
Making a running noose of the string, he would 
lay it in a circle around the entrance to the 
den, then go back as far as the lariat ex- 
tended and lie down, to watch for the animals. 
If one poked its head out, he would jerk the 
lariat, and the noose would tighten around its 
neck or body. In this way children catch 
ground squirrels—he had done it himself in 
youthful days—and he believed that in like man- 
ner he could capture a fox. 
“These animals have more than one entrance 
to their den, often as many as five or six. If 
my grandfather set the noose around a hole into 
which he saw a fox go, the animal was certain 
to look out from another opening, and seeing 
him lying there near by, would dodge back and 
appear no more, even though he waited a long 
time. Thus passed the first day, and also the 
second. On the evening of the third he noosed 
one, but with a snap of its sharp teeth it cut 
the string and escaped. Tired and thirsty, and 
hungry, he was returning home that evening, 
when on the side of a coulée he saw five young 
foxes playing near the entrance to their den, 
the mother and father sitting near by watching 
them. They were very small; so young that 
they were not quick and active on their feet, 
but tumbled over each other slowly and awk- 
wardly. He sat down on the opposite side of the 
coulée and watched them until the sun set and 
night came on. Over and over he asked him- 
self how he could catch one of the young. He 
prayed, too, calling upon the gods, upon his 
dream, to show him the way. 
“Returning to his lodge, he ate and drank 
and filled and lighted his pipe, again praying 
for help in that which he had to do. And sud- 
denly, as he sat there silently smoking, the way 
was shown him. The gods had taken pity on 
him. He went to bed and slept well. ‘Go out 
and find a large buffalo shoulder blade,’ he said 
to my grandmother, after the morning meal, 
‘then take a cow skin and accompany me.’ 
“They went to the den of young foxes. Very 
close to the place where the little ones played was 
a large bunch of rye grass, and in the center of 
it my grandfather began to cut away the sod, to 
loosen the earth with his knife. My grand- 
mother helped him, using the shoulder blade as 
a white man does his shovel, removing the earth 
and piling it on the cowskin, then carrying the 
load away and scattering it in the bottom of the 
coulée. They worked and worked, cutting and 
digging, and scraping, until the hole was deep 
enough for my grandfather to stand in. His 
eyes were even with the top of the ground, the 
fringe of rye grass still standing made a good 
screen; the foxes might scent him, but they could 
not see him. ‘Go home,’ he said to my grand- 
mother, when they had finished their work. ‘Go 
home and make a sacrifice to the Sun, and pray 
that I may succeed in that which I have to do.’ 
“Then he got into the hole and stood very stili, 
waiting, watching for the little ones to come out. 
Long he waited; the sun seemed to travel very 
slowly down toward the mountains. It was very 
hot; he became very thirsty; his legs ached, but 
he stood as motionless as the ground itself, al- 
ways watching. A little while before sunset an 
old one came out, and walked half way around 
the rye grass bunch. Then, suddenly, it scented 
him, and ran swiftly away up the coulée, not 
daring to return whence the wind had warned it 
of some danger, unseen, but more to be feared 
for that very reason. Soon afterward the little 
ones came forth, one by one, slowly and lazily, 
yawning and_ stretching themselves, blinking 
their eyes in the strong light. They began to 
play, as they had done on the previous evening, 
and before long they gathered in a scuffle at the 
edge of the rye grass. Then my grandfather 
quickly reached out, and seized one by the back 
of the neck. ‘Hai-ya’, little brother,’ he cried, ‘I 
have caught you.’ Climbing out of the hole he 
wrapped it in a fold of his robe and hurried to 
his lodge. He was happy. Four times his dream 
had spoken to him; on the fourth day he had ful- 
filled its command. He felt sure that in some 
way the taking of the fox was to be for his good. 
“Puh’-po-kan (dream) my grandfather named 
the little animal. From the very beginning it 
had no fear of him, and soon made friends with 
the dogs of the lodge. An old bitch loved it at 
once, and if any strange dog came nosing around 
where it was she would drive the stranger away. 
The fox eat ‘readily the bits of meat my grand- 
father gave it, and learned to drink water and 
soup. He forbade anyone to pet it, or feed it, 
or call it by name, so it was friendly only with 
him. It wanted to follow him wherever he went, 
and at night would crawl under the robes and 
sleep beside him. When camp was moved, it had 
a little nest in a travois load, where it would lie 
quite still to the journey’s end. It was such a 
funny little one; always wanting to play with my 
grandfather or with the lodge dogs; and when it 
got scared at anything it would run to him, mak- 
ing short, gasping, hoarse little barks, just as we 
hear them at night out beyond the lodges. I did 
so want to play with it, take it up in my arms 
and pet it, but always my mother would say: 
‘Don’t you dare do it; ’tis a sacred one, and if 
you touch it something dreadful will happen to 
you. Perhaps you would go blind.’ 
“As it grew older it would wander around at 
times during the night until chased by some dog, 
and then it would rush in and crawl into bed be- 
side my grandfather. Not a mouse wandered in 
under the lodge-skin but Puh’-po-kan had found 
and killed it, and often he would bring home a 
bird or brown squirrel. About the time when 
Puh’-po-kan had seen two winters, we were 
camping on the Little River, just north of the 
Bear’s Paw Mountains. One night, after the 
lodge fires had all died out and everyone was 
asleep, Puh’-po-kan awoke my grandfather by 
backing up against his head and barking in a 
way it had when scared. ‘Stop that, said my 
grandfather, reaching up and giving the little 
one a light slap. ‘Stop barking and go to sleep.’ 
“But Puh’-po-kan would not stop; instead he 
barked harder than ever, trembling because he 
was so excited. My grandfather raised up on his 
elbow and looked around. The moon was shin- 
ing down through the smoke-hole, so that he 
