even as the gray terror closed in upon her,
The stealthy catlike death of the waves
And the little famished mouths of sand,
The slow mealy strangling sands,
She bravely held aloft the white flower.

And then, Medicine Man, I cared not if he came,
The Mountain Lion, my faithless man!
The utmost reach of his strength could not save her,
He might go down to bottomless depths with her;
He might strive and bear me down to her.
Come was my just and rightful hour of triumph!

I arose and went forth on the white shore
I smiled like a mother upon her,
Then I pointed my finger, I laughed in scorn,
I made bad sign talk at her,
I danced the Braves' triumph dance, with song,
I cried to her in the exultation of victory:
"He will not come again to you,
The faithless Mountain Lion, my man,
He who danced the sacred Mating Dance
Of the Mandanas with me in the Council Lodge,
He who read into my eyes the great understanding
Even upon the night of your coming among us.
Go thou back to the evil spirits who sent thee!"

Until the last wave overran her eyes,
The slim thing of bone hardness,
Of arrow straightness, and sureness,
Of bird swiftness, would not look once upon me,
Would not plead with me for mercy
Nor sign for help at my hands.
When she saw me she suddenly ceased to struggle,
And with her eyes fixed upon the white flower,
The fallen moon that rides the still black water,
She went to bottomless depths silently;
Slowly, slowly, Medicine Man, she sank,
Until the flower again rested
On the breast of the unconscious water.

Then I went into the forest on her trail,
I hunted her precious robe of snow white doeskin,
I rolled a heavy stone in its rich bead work:
I carried it back swiftly,
And upon the face of the white flower
Slowly sinking beneath the water I threw it.

Then I knelt in cunning like the fox,
And swiftly working my way backward,
With my steady, careful fingers
I sifted the sands over our footsteps,
Until I came to the feather grass
And the dry leaves of the deep forest.

Like the hunted I ran to the safety of my wigwam,
I buried myself in my soft robes of satisfaction,
My heart laughed in victory,
The sleep I had lost for many mocking moons
While my brain thought snares,
Now settled heavy, like sickness upon me.

Even as I slept in deep stupor,
There came dreams and yet again dreams,
But they were not familiar dreams
Of the low humming rattler
Nor the foaming mouth of the knife footed killer.
I dreamed that over my heart flamed and scorched
And burned Coüy-oüy, the little sacred red bird;
While my hands could not braid
And put the gay ornaments in my hair,
Could not put on my robe,
Could not tie my moccasins,
Could not lift food to my hungry mouth,
Because they were full of the white flowers
From the land of the still water.

When the alarum cries sounded
And the ponies' feet thundered,
When the hunting dogs raged
And shrill clamour arose in the camp,
My Mother shook me,
And long she looked deep into my eyes
And I looked into her eyes;
And then in the silent talk of our tribe
I made the swift going down sign
Of the Monster sands of the far bay.

There was no triumph on her face
When she slowly turned from me,
And fear was born in my heart
Because I clearly saw its awful image
When it sprang into life in the deeps of her eyes.

When the scouts and hunters were gathering,
When the visiting Chief was threatening,
And all of our Chiefs were in secret council,
While the women were wailing the death cry,
There came to my lodge in that hour,
The footsteps I had always awaited.
So I passed through my doorway
And in the revealing sunlight
I stood before Mountain Lion,
Terrible to face in his deep rage.

With dazed hand I drew sleep from my eyes;
I met his gaze stupidly with smiling face;
When he saw this he was forced to doubt
The thing he had come expecting to see.
When he tried to look far into my eyes for a sign
He saw only stupid Old Man Sleep sitting there
Mocking the tortured heart in his breast.

Then he caught me fiercely by the shoulders,
He drew me close to him,
He forced my eyes to meet his,
And low and hoarse he cried to me in torture:
"She jumped to the mark of the sky flower,
And the snake with death in its mouth was there;
The mark was the mark you set for her, Yiada.

"She went to the far, lonely cave
Of the chased and hungry black death,
And the rare shell that she sought
Was a part of your treasure, Yiada.

"Again she is missing, evil spirits know how long,
What torture death have you sent her seeking now—
Coüy-oüy, my brave fire bird, my woman?"

O Medicine Man, if he had not said soft words,
I might have told him as he held me before him.
I might have braved the storm of his wrath
And made my journey to the Great Spirit
In that menacing breath.
When I saw that she lived in my place
In the secret tent of his heart
I laughed at him and I cried tauntingly:
"She is chasing painted wings
In the pasture meadows of the valley.
She is at the still pool hunting the water flower:
She would use its white magic
To snare your wild heart,
Even as she used the red magic of the fire bird.
Go and seek her, O mighty hunter!
Go and seek—until you find her!"

PART III

YIADA'S FLIGHT TO THE MANDANAS

When the hunters had raced from our village
Toward the land of ice,
Toward the land of hot suns,
Toward the land of dawn,
And where the sun dives in the sea,
In the conflicting cross winds
Between the paths of their going,
On their stoutest ponies
Rode the young women and the squaws
Who could be spared with safety
From the watch of the campfires
And the care of the little happy children.