Away beyond the Thin Hills, above the Big Lone Tree upon the Powder River, the Uncpapa Sioux had celebrated their Sun Dance, some forty years ago. It was mid- summer and the red folk were happy. They lacked for nothing. The yellowish green flat on either side of the Powder was studded with wild flowers, and the cottonwood trees were in full leaf. One large circle of buffalo skin tee- pees formed the movable village. The Big Horn Mountains loomed up against the deep blue sky to the westward, and the Black Hills appeared in the far southeast.
The tribal rites had all been observed, and the usual summer festivities enjoyed to the full. The camp as it broke up divided itself in three parts, each of which had determined to seek a favorite hunting-ground.
One band journeyed west, toward the Tongue River. One followed a tributary of the Pow- der to the south. The third merely changed camp, on account of the grazing for ponies, and for four days remained near the old place.
The party that went west did not fail to real- ize the perilous nature of their wanderings, for they were trespassing upon the country of thewarlike Crows.
On the third day at sunrise, the Sioux crier's voice resounded in the valley of the Powder, announcing that the lodges must be razed and the villagers must take up their march.
Breakfast of jerked buffalo meat had been served and the women were adjusting their packs, not without much chatter and apparent confusion. Weeko (Beautiful Woman), the young wife of the war-chief Shunkaska, who had made many presents at the dances in honor of her twin boys, now gave one of her remain- ing ponies to a poor old woman whose only beast of burden, a large dog, had died during the night.
This made it necessary to shift the packs of the others. Nakpa, or Long Ears, her kitten- like gray mule, which had heretofore been hon- ored with the precious burden of the twin babies, was to be given a heavier and more cumbersome load. Weeko's two-year-old spotted pony was selected to carry the babies.
Accordingly, the two children, in their gor- geously beaded buckskin hoods, were sus- pended upon either side of the pony's saddle. As Weeko's first-born, they were beautifully dressed; even the saddle and bridle were dain- tily worked by her own hands.
The caravan was now in motion, and Weeko started all her ponies after the leader, while she adjusted the mule's clumsy burden of ket- tles and other household gear. In a mo- ment:
"Go on, let us see how you move with your new load! Go on!" she exclaimed again, with a light blow of the horse-hair lariat, as the an- imal stood perfectly still.
Nakpa simply gave an angry side glance at her load and shifted her position once or twice. Then she threw herself headlong into the air and landed stiff-legged, uttering at the same time her unearthly protest. First she dove straight through the crowd, then proceeded in a circle, her heels describing wonderful curves and sweeps in the air. Her pack, too, began to come to pieces and to take forced flights from her undignified body and heels, in the midst of the screams of women and children, the barking of dogs, and the war-whoops of the amused young braves.
The cowskin tent became detached from her saddle, and a momentlater Nakpa stood free. Her sides worked like a bellows as she stood there meekly indignant, apparently considering herself to be the victim of an uncalled-for mis- understanding.
"I should put an arrow through her at once, only she is not worth a good arrow," said Shunkaska, or White Dog, the husband of Weeko. At his wife's answer, he opened his eyes in surprised displeasure.
"No, she shall have her own pack again. She wants her twins. I ought never to have taken them from her!"Weeko approached Nakpa as she stood alone and unfriended in the face of her little world, all of whom considered that she had committed the unpardonable sin. As for her, she evidently felt that her misfortunes had not been of her own making. She gave a hesitating, sidelong look at her mistress.
"Nakpa, you should not have acted so. I knew you were stronger than the others, there- fore I gave you that load," said Weeko in a conciliatory tone, and patted her on the nose. "Come, now, you shall have your own pet pack," and she led her back to where the young pony stood silently with the babies.
Nakpa threw back her ears and cast savage looks at him, while Shunkaska, with no small annoyance, gathered together as much as he could of their scattered household effects. The sleeping brown-skinned babies in their chrysalis- like hoods were gently lowered from the pony's back and attached securely to Nakpa's padded wooden saddle. The family pots and kettles were divided among the pack ponies. Order was restored and the village once more in mo- tion.
"Come now, Nakpa; you have your wish. You must take good care of my babies. Be good, because I have trusted you," murmured the young mother in her softest tones.
"Really, Weeko, you have some common ground with Nakpa, for you both always want to have your own way, and stick to it, too! I tell you, I fear this Long Ears. She is not to be trusted with babies," remarked Shunkaska, with a good deal of severity. But his wife made no reply, for she well knew that though he might criticise, he would not actually interfere with her domestic ar- rangements.
He now started ahead to join the men in ad- vance of the slow-moving procession, thus leav- ing her in undivided charge of her household. One or two of the pack ponies were not well- trained and required all her attention. Nakpa had been a faithful servant until her escapade of the morning, and she was now obviously sat- isfied with her mistress' arrangements. She walked alongside with her lariat dragging, and perfectly free to do as she pleased.
