ioe 
FOREST*"AND STREAM. 
[May 12, 1906. 

have always been medicine. They are made into 
quiver-and-bow-cases, or the owners use them 
for saddle skins. Used in any way, they give 
one success in hunting, or in war. No, I had 
never hunted these animals, but now I was 
bound to get one. Again she there and I went 
afoot into the mountains. I took both gun and 
bow, the latter for killing meat. The silent 
arrow alarms nothing; the boom of a gun 
arouses every living thing; the sleeping ones 
awake, prick up their ears, sniff the wind, and 
watch. 
“We walked along the shore of the creek. 
Here, there, plainly marked in the mud, and on 
damp sand were foot prints of those I sought, 
foot prints, but nothing more. We went into 
the deep timber; although many might have 
passed there, they could make no sign, leave 
no tracks on the dry, dead leaves. We went 
higher, up through the timber, up where the 
rock is chief and trees grow small and low. 
There we sat all through the day, peering out 
through bushes surrounding the place, seeing 
once a small black bear, once a fisher, but no 
other living thing, except little birds, and eagles 
lazily flying around. But near sunset came a 
band of bighorn feeding toward us, following 
the wind. I fitted an arrow to my bow and shot 
one, a little young one. It bleated and fell 
over, and the rest, at first running away scared, 
came back with its mother and looked. at it 
curiously, looked all around, trying to under- 
stand what had happened. I then shot the 
mother. We left her lying, in hopes of finding 
a mountain lion by it the next day, and taking 
the young one we went away down the moun- 
tain and camped for the night near a stream of 
water. : 
“We passed many days like that, many days. 
We camped wherever night came upon us, go- 
ing home only when our lodge required meat, 
or when camp was to be moved. Thus passed 
the summer, and in all that time we saw not 
once that which I sought. Twice during that 
time I died, and each time I was dead longer 
than before. I became much discouraged; I did 
not doubt my dream’s words; no, I was sure 
that old man had spoken truth, but I felt that I 
was going to die before I could do all he’ had 
told me to do. From the Belt Mountains we 
moved to Yellow River, from there across to 
Snowy Mountains. Then came winter, and 
snow fell on the high slopes, falling lower, still 
lower, until the mountains were white clear to 
the plains. Nothing was now hidden from me 
of the happenings of the night; wherever I 
went the snow gave me the story as well as if 
some one had looked on, had seen it all, and 
then related it. Here walked, and fed, and 
played, and rested deer and elk; here a bear 
prowled around, turning over logs and stones. 
There were tracks of wolf, and coyote, and bob 
cat and fox, each hunting in his own way for 
something with which to fill his belly. Yes, 
and here, what is this heap of brush and sticks 
and leaves, soiled snow and earth? Up through 
it protudes an antler. Over there is blood; 
something has been dragged through the snow. 
Ah! there, over there, is a trail of big, round 
footprints near together. Here in the night a 
mountain lion sprang upon a buck deer, killed 
it and ate his fill, dragged the remains over to 
his place and covered them with all the loose 
things he could paw together. Thus I explained 
it to my woman. ‘And,’ I told her, ‘he has not 
gone far; his belly is full; somewhere near he 
lies stretched out, asleep.’ 
But what should I do? Hide somewhere near- 
by and wait for him to return? He might not 
come until far in the night when I could not 
see him. He might, when coming, get wind of 
me and turn, never to come back. No, I would 
trail him. I would go as carefully as he him- 
self when he crept along, preparing to spring 
upon a deer. I would see him before he should 
awake and notice me, and I would kill him 
where he lay. Thus did I plan; thus did I ex- 
plain to my woman, telling how to follow me 
at a distance, just so near that she could see 
me once in a while, no nearer. She was pleased. 
‘You will surely kill him,’ she said. I was 
glad, excited. After all these moons at last I 
had a trail to follow, and on the snow that 
was almost as good as seeing the animal far off 
and approaching him. Think then, friend, think 
of my despair when, almost within sight of the 
covered deer, I found where the animal had 
lain on a big log, had seen us talking, and 
bounded away into the dark woods with long 
leaps! It was too much. Again I got dizzy, 
staggered, and was dead before I dropped upon 
the snow. 
“That time my woman got me home, going 
back for a horse for me to ride, and I lay in the 
lodge many days, weak in body, sick in heart, 
discouraged. But friends came in to cheer me. 
Their women brought choice meat, and tongues, 
dried berries, soups, anything good. So we 
fared well, and day by day my strength came 
back. At last, one evening, a friend who had 
been hunting came hurrying in. ‘Kyi!’ said he, 
‘I have good news for you. Up in a cafion 
where I trailed a wounded deer, I came to a 
hole in the rocks. A hard beaten trail leads 
from it out to the water, then parts into many 
smaller trails.. A mountain lion lives there with 
her young. I did not scare them. I did not 
even kill the deer I followed to the place, but 
came at once to tell you.’ 
“Once more I took courage, and as soon as 
it was daylight I started for the place with my 
friend and my woman. We rode away to the 
south, then up a creek, tied our horses and 
entered a walled cafion. From there it was 
not far to the cave. Snow had fallen during 
the night; the freshest tracks led in to the cave; 
in there was the mother, and three young 
partly grown, and they were somewhere back 
in the darkness, watching us perhaps. 
“T was scared; of course I was. Men had 
been killed by these animals when following 
them into their den. And this one had young; 
she would fight all the more fiercely. Yes, I 
was afraid, but for all that I must go in; as 
well die there as in some other place, of the 
sickness from which I suffered. I prepared to 
go in. My woman cried and begged me not to 
go. ‘My friend proposed that we sit and watch 
for the animals to come out. I fixed the 
priming in my gun, took my knife in my teeth, 
got down on my hands and knees and crawled 
in. It was just a narrow, low hole in the wall, 
and my body shut off most of the light, yet 
there was enough for me to see ahead dimly, 
and after a little I saw ahead two green-red eyes, 
big, wide eyes of fire. I stooped lower, letting 
in more light, and could see the old one’s body, 
see her ears laid back tight on her head, see 
the tip of her tail swishing this way, that way. 
She growled a little, a low, soft growl. She 
lay on her belly and her forefeet shifted back 
and forth, seeking the secure hold; she was 
about to spring upon me. More dimly I saw 
her cubs behind her, but they did not matter. 
I slowly raised my gun, but before I could aim 
it, she sprang. I fired, the ball met her in the 
air; her body struck me and knocked the 
breath out of me, and once more I died. 
“They pulled me out of the cave, and while 
“my woman cared for me, my friend went back 
in, shot the three young with his bow and ar- 
rows, and dragged them out with the body of 
the mother. My ball had struck her fair in the 
breast. So, now, at last, I had that which my 
dream had told me to get, and I prayed, I sang 
the songs as I had been told to do. It was not 
many nights after that, sitting on my couch, I 
said the prayers and sang the first one of the 
songs. I had just finished it when something 
gave way inside of me, and blood and foul 
matter streamed from my mouth. There was 
no pain. After a time the blood ceased run- 
ning. I washed my mouth, got up and walked 
around. I no longer felt a tightness here in 
my side. I felt light on foot; as if I could run 
and jump, and I was hungry. I knew what had 
happened; even as the old man had foretold, 
the growth inside me had been clawed open. 
I was well. We made great sacrifice for this 
next day. I have been well ever since. Not 
only that, but my medicine has cured many sick 
ones. Kyi!” 
That is one of the stories I heard that winter 
and jotted down in my note book. Verily, there 
is nothing like faith and courage for the cure 
of ills, mental‘and physical, in savage and in 
the civilized alike. 
For Nat-ah’-ki and for me this was a happy 
winter. It was for all of us except Berry, 
who chafed over the “endless days of cold and 
snow.” I don’t know how many times he went 
down in the flat and measured it. So many acres 
here for oats, so many there for potatoes, for 
turnips, for peas. We would buy a lot of 
sows, he said, and raise pigs as well as cattle. 
Spring came early. Toward the end of March 
the bulls were rounded up and yoked to the 
plows. Old Mrs. Berry and the Crow Woman 
prepared a little plot of ground in a bend of the 
creek, and sorted seeds they had obtained at 
some distant time from their people, the Man- 
dans and Rees. I didn’t know anything about 
plowing and planting, nor did I wish to learn. 
Nat-ah’-ki and I rode among the cattle—and 
found that the calves disappeared about as fast 
as they were born. Wolves were numerous. 
“Oh!” she would exclaim, as we rode slowly 
homeward from a day with the cattle. “Oh, 
isn’t this happy and peaceful! Our strong, warm 
home there, our pretty room, the men planting 
things for us, the good meat we own feeding 
on these hills. Oh, it is much better than living 
in a camp-and trailing from place to place across 
endless plains, ever expecting to hear the yells 
of the enemy and the whistle of bullets!” 
~“Oh! I don’t know,” I replied. “This is good 
enough. I like any place my little woman likes; 
but don’t you remember what fun we had in 
camp, the dancing and feasting, the big hunts, 
the stories we heard of nights. That was great 
fun, Nat-ah’-ki.” 
“Shame on you!” she exclaimed. “I really 
