Sentinels were stationed so as to guard against surprise. Hunters were sent forth, and returned laden with game.

Night came on. There was no moon; and it was dark, although the stars shone brightly. A fire blazed in the open air, and the men whose duty it was to dress and cook the meat, were moving about the burning logs; while others sat mending their moccasins by the firelight, listening to stories of battles, marvellous escapes, and strange adventures.

Supper was cooked, and the meat was piled on freshly cut grass spread upon the ground; and near by were set the pots of broth and the wooden bowls and horn spoons. The Leader was called to perform the usual sacred rites observed before the serving of food; and all the warriors gathered around the fire, each one eager for his portion of the meal. At a signal from the Leader every man bowed his head, and there was silence. Not a breath of air was stirring. Now and then could be heard the far-off dismal howl of the grey wolf or the cry of a strange bird startled from its nest by a coyote. Save from these and the crackling of the fire there was stillness in all the surroundings. The warriors had made their silent petitions to Wakon´-da, the power that moves all things. The Leader lifted his head. Then from the pile of meat he took a bit and raised it toward the sky, as an offering to that mysterious power, when suddenly the stillness was broken and the ceremony interrupted by a clear voice bursting into song, the echoes in the hills and valleys catching and repeating the strain.

Each warrior involuntarily grasped his bow. The Leader, ever keen and alert, exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, "The fire! the fire!" Immediately many hands were rubbing the flaming wood into the earth. Commands were hastily given by the Leader; and the warriors, with palpitating hearts, started out to form a ring around the spot whence the thrilling sounds came. The voice sang on. The ring grew smaller and smaller until in an open space the shadowy form of a tree loomed up before the advancing warriors. No escape was now possible for the singer, yet the song went on without hesitancy. The tree was now clearly visible. The song came to a close, and the echo died away in the distance. The men kept on toward the tree, with bows drawn and arrows strung. No form was seen running around inside the ring, seeking an opening for escape; but, lo! at the foot of the tree lay scattered the whitened bones and the grinning skull of a man. Death had claimed the body of this warrior and compelled its return to dust, but had failed to silence the voice of the man who, when living, had often defied death.

SONG OF THE DEATHLESS VOICE.

Dakota.

Harmonized by Edwin S. Tracy.

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The Leader, looking around upon his followers, lifted his voice and said:—

"This was a warrior, who died the death of a warrior. There was joy in his voice!"

The men to whom the strange experience narrated in this story came, afterward banded themselves together in order the better to serve their people, to present to the young men of the tribe an example of generosity in time of peace and of steadfast valour on the field of battle. They kept together during their lives and added to their number, so that the society they formed continued to exist through generations.

The story and song which has been handed down through all these years as the inspiration of the founders of the Ma-wa´-da-ni Society, embodies a truth honoured among all peoples,—that death cannot silence the voice of one who confronts danger with unflinching courage, giving his life in the defence of those dependent upon his prowess. Such a man might fall in the trackless wilderness, and his bones lie unhonoured and unburied until they blanched with age: still his voice would ring out in the solitude until its message of courage and joy should find an echo in the heart of the living.