498 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Marcu 31, 1906. 

could make out the different objects in the lodge; 
over by the doorway there was something that 
did not belong there; a dark, motionless object 
that looked like a person crouching. ‘Who are 
you?’ he asked. ‘What do you want here?’ 
“No answer. 
“Then my grandfather spoke again: ‘Tell me, 
quickly, who you are. Get up and talk, or I 
will shoot you.’ 
“Still there was no answer. Puh’-po-kan kept 
on barking. My grandfather quietly reached out 
for his gun, which lay at the head of the bed, 
cocked it without noise, aimed and fired it. With 
a fearful scream a man—for such the object 
proved to be—sprang up and fell dead right in 
the hot ashes and coals of the fire-place, from 
whence my grandfather quickly dragged him. Of 
course the shot aroused the camp, and the 
screams of the frightened women in my grand- 
father’s lodge brought every one to it. A fire 
was quickly built and the light showed that the 
dead one was an enemy, a far-away tribe Sioux. 
He had no weapon except a big long knife, still 
firmly gripped in his right hand. Evidently he 
had entered the lodge intending to steal a gun, 
and would have stabbed anyone who interfered 
with him. When the fox gave warning of his 
presence, he most likely thought that by remain- 
ing crouched to the ground he would not be dis- 
covered, and that those aroused would soon again 
fall to sleep. He seemed to have come to the 
camp alone, for no trace of others could be 
found, no horses were stolen. 
“All the talk in camp was about the fox, and 
my grandfather’s dream. It was all great medi- 
cine. And my grandfather, how pleased he was. 
He made many sacrifices, prayed much, and loved 
‘Puh’-po-kan more than ever. Two more winters 
the little one lived, and then one summer night 
it was bitten by a rattlesnake and soon died. The 
women wrapped the swollen little body in robes 
and buried it on a scaffold they made in a cotton- 
wood tree, just as if it had been a person.” 
I recinched our saddles. Nat-ah’-ki spread the 
remains of cur lunch on a smooth flat stone. “Eat 
heartily, little brother,’ she said. We mounted 
and rode away, and looking back we saw the fox 
busily chewing a piece of dried meat. Later in 
the afternoon we arrived in camp, which had 
been pitched near a small lake on the high pla- 
teau. The water was bad but drinkable when 
made into tea. We used buffalo chips for fuel. 
In the evening I was invited to a feast given by 
Big Lake. Monroe, or Rising Wolf, as I pre- 
ferred to call him, was also a guest along with a 
number of other staid and sober men. Young 
men seldom feasted and smoked with their el- 
ders, and in the camp were many coteries, or 
social sets, just as we find them in any civilized 
community, with this exception; there was no 
jealousy nor rivalry between them; no one of 
them felt that its members were in anyway any 
better than the members of another set. 
We had smoked but one pipe, I remember, 
when a young man bounced in through the door- 
way, and said: “A war party of many men is 
near us.” 
“Ah!” all exclaimed, 
“Quick! tell us about it.” 
“T was hunting,” said the young man, “and tied 
my horse to a bunch of sage while I crept up toa 
band of antelope. Perhaps I did not tie him se- 
curely; he got loose and ran away on his back 
trail and I started back afoot. At sundown I 
and then Big Lake, 
came to the top of a ridge and could see our 
camp and over on another ridge near the Judith 
I saw at least fifty men. Saw them climb up and 
stand on its summit. They must have discovered 
our camp, by the smoke from the lodge fires, if 
nothing more, I waited until it was so dark that 
they could not see me, and then hurried in. They 
will certainly raid our horses to-night. 
“Scatter out through camp all of you,” said 
Big Lake, quickly and decisively. ‘Tell the men 
to come here at once, warn the women not to 
scream or cry or run. Hurry!” 
I went home and told Nat-ah’-ki the news, re- 
moved the cover of my rifle, filled my coat pock- 
ets with cartridges. “Wait!” she said, grasping 
the gun barrel. “What are you going to do?” 
“Why, Big Lake told us to meet at his lodge,” 
I explained. “He has some good plan, I sup- 
pose.” 
“Yes, he is wise,” she agreed, “but you are not 
going out there to be killed by a war party. Stay 
here with me.” 
“But our horses. I cannot remain here in the 
lodge and let the enemy run them off.” 
“They do not matter. Let them go.’ 
“But,” I said, “if I remained here think what 
people would say. They would call me a coward, 
they would say to you: ‘Your white man has a 
woman’s heart; why don’t you make some 
dresses for him?’ ” 
That ended the argument. She just sat down 
on the couch, covered her head with a shawl, and 
thus I left her. I will acknowledge that I did 
not go forth with a mad desire for battle. The 
cheerful lodge fire, the restful couch and the 
long-stemmed pipe were dear to all save the rash 
young man whose only thought was of war. Big 
Lake was a born tactician. In the few moments 
required to assemble the men around his lodge 
he had thought out his plan of defense, and 
issued his orders in a few words. The various 
bands of the All Friends Society were told off 
into four groups, and ordered to steal quietly out 
to the north, south, east and west of camp and 
there await the arrival of the enemy. All others 
not of the society were to go with any one of the 
bands they chose. It was not feared that a war 
party of fifty or of even three times that number 
would make an attack on camp. They came, of 
course, to steal horses, and the plan was to go 
out where the herds were grazing and lie in wait. 
The really valuable animals were all tethered, as 
usual, near the lodges of their owners, and pass- 
ing by the herds of common horses, the enemy 
would try to get in to them, cut their ropes and 
lead them away one by one, and by twos and 
threes. 
I moved out with the Crazy Dogs, Raven Car- 
riers and thirty or forty others who, like myself, 
belonged to no organization. We spread out in 
a wide line, and after walking slowly and silently 
for about half a mile, word was passed to stop, 
whereupon we sat down in the cover of the sage 
and grease-wood brush. There was a moon, low 
down in the western sky, and due to set about 
midnight, so it was not very dark; we could see 
quite plainly the brush forty or fifty yards dis- 
tant. We remained there quietly a long time. 
The man nearest me on the right slowly crawled 
over and sat beside me. 
“The night light is about to go out of sight,” 
he whispered. “The war party will appear some- 
where soon, if they come at all to-night.” 
He spoke truly, for a little later we heard in- 
distinctly away out beyond a murmur of voices. 
Then there was silence, and then with soft tread 
and harsh swish of brush against their leggins, 
the raiders came into view, unsuspectingly ad- 
vancing, some of them to their death. Some one 
on my left fired first, and then the whole line shot 
an irregular volley. How the sparks of the cheap 
black powder glowed and sparkled as_ they 
spouted from fuke and rifle into the darkness. 
The flashes blinded us for a moment, and when 
we could see again the enemy were running 
away. They had fired a number of shots in an- 
swer to ours, but as we afterward found, not one 
of their bullets had found a mark. Almost as 
one man our line sprang forward, with cries of 
“Now, Crazy Dogs! Now, Raven Carriers! Take 
courage; we must wipe them out.” Here were 
some bodies, five in all, one with life still in it. 
Thud went a war club and the recumbent figure 
sprawled out, face up, in the waning moonlight. 
In a trice the dead were scalped, their arms taken 
by those who first came to them. On sped our 
party, an occasional shot was fired at a dimly 
seen retreating figure. Behind us now came the 
three other divisions of the camp, shouting words 
of encouragement. But now no enemy could be 
seen, nor heard, and our party stopped; it was 
useless to look further for them in the darkness. 
Big Lake came up. “Spread out,’ he said, 
“spread out again and encircle the camp. Per- 
haps some of them are concealed in the brush 
closer in, and with daylight we will find them.” 
I shouldered my rifle and went home. Nat- 
ah’-ki was sitting up with her mother for com- 
pany and I related all that had occurred. 
“Why did you come back?” she asked, after I 
had finished. “Why didn’t you stay out there with 
the rest as Big Lake ordered?” 
“Hai-yah!” I exclaimed. “How peculiar are 
women; one may not understand them. You 
begged me this evening to remain here with you. 
I came back because I am tired and hungry, and 
sleepy, and now you are displeased because I 
returned. Well, to please you I'll go back and 
sit with the others until morning.” 
“Sit down, crazy man,” she said, pushing me 
back on the couch from which I had started to 
rise. “You will stay right. there. Here is your 
pipe; fill it and smoke while I broil some meat 
and make tea.” 
“You are the chief,’ I told her, contentedly 
leaning back against a willow mat. “It shall be 
as you Say.” 
Ah, me! Roll them back, you ruthless har- 
vester of the years. Give back to me Nat-ah’-ki 
and my youth. Return to us our lodge and the 
wide brown buffalo plains, 
WALTER B. ANDERSON. 
[To BE CONTINUED] 
AmEs, Ia.—It is now almost a year since we 
have been receiving your interesting and practical 
journal for the use of our students who are spe- 
cializing in the study of forestry. Your paper 
has been a constant help and inspiration to our 
men by giving them a clearer, more practical un- 
derstanding of hunting and fishing matters in this 
country. There has been, and is so much abuse 
of our great privileges, as far as hunting and 
fishing is concerned, that I have been very 
anxious that our men get a right understanding 
of this subject. . . P. BAKER, 
Forester Iowa State College. 

PASADENA, Cal.—I want to congratulate you 
on the new dress of the paper. It is better look- 
ing and more convenient to handle. OG. B, P. 
