of the awful swirling and drifting snow came a little creature with head down and drooping tail. It was a Sinopah. [The "swift" or "kit" fox of the North-western plains.]

"It passed close to me, showing no fear, just looking up once at me, its black eyes shining strangely, deep down in its snow-caked hair: 'Oh, little brother,' I cried, 'you are going to the sheltering timber of the river. Do not haste; guide me thither, else I die.'

"Sinopah was almost out of sight then, although so near. But when I asked for his help, he stopped and looked back, as if waiting for me. I walked toward him as fast as I could, holding my robe close against my face so as to shield it from the stinging snow. Sinopah waited until I was within ten steps of him, then pushed sidling on against the drift until nearly out of sight again, when he stopped as before, as if waiting. And so we went on and on. Sometimes the wind was in my face, sometimes beating against my side or back, but I knew that that was a trick of Cold-Maker. He wanted to confuse me; to make me think that I was going now in one direction, and again turning another way. He wanted me to go around and around in a circle until he could kill me with his freezing winds.

"Through it all I had faith. I believed that the gods had heard my prayers; that Sinopah had been sent by them to save me. Sometimes, when it seemed as if he certainly had turned and was going straight back the way we had come, doubts for a moment filled my mind, but I thrust them out. The cold grew more and more bitter; the snow rushed and whirled into deeper and deeper drifts. I became weary; I wanted to lie down and sleep; and at the last it was all I could do to struggle on. I could not have traveled much farther when suddenly we began to descend a steep hill, and I knew that we were leaving the plain and going down into the river valley. It was so. We soon got to the bottom and went on through the tall sagebrush of the lowlands. And then, seemingly very far off, but really only a few steps distant, the naked branches of cottonwoods appeared in the thick, driving snow, and I could hear the wind crying through them. I hastened then, as fast as I could, and soon stood in the shelter of the timber bordering the river. Right in front of me was a dead, bent old tree that I remembered having seen before; the camp was just a little way up from it. 'Little brother,' I cried, 'you have saved me.'

"But Sinopah was gone. I could not see him anywhere about. I went on and soon came to the camp and to my own lodge. I was saved. Sinopah had led me straight home. There and then I made a vow: ever afterward, when passing the dens of the Sinopahs, if I had meat I dropped a piece of it for them and their young."

"Ah, hah, hai!" all the guests exclaimed. "How wonderful. Great medicine was Sinopah."

"Pass me the new-born one," said Low Horn.

A woman placed the laced little form in his hands and he looked long and kindly down at the round, smooth face. Then, taking sacred, dull-red paint from a little buckskin sack, he carefully rubbed it on the baby's forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin. Lastly he held the child face upward toward the sun, and said: "O all-powerful Sun, and you, Nap-i (Old Man), Maker-of-the-World: behold, I have painted the new-born one with your own sacred color, and now I name him. I give him a name for his young days. A name to last until he becomes a warrior and makes a name for himself. I call him Sinopah.

"Have pity on Sinopah, O you great ones. Make him grow up strong and brave; fill his heart with love for father and mother, and kind feeling for all our people. Give him long life, O Maker-of-the-World, and you, wonderful Maker-of-the-Days. Have pity on us all, men, women, and children; give us all long life. I have said."

"Ai! Ai! You gods, have pity on us," all the guests cried, and at that they all arose and went their ways. The boy was named.

CHAPTER II SINOPAH AND SINOPAH

All summer long, and all through the many moons of winter, the little Sinopah remained laced against his cradle-board the greater part of the time. The object in keeping him in such a position was so to shape the bones of his body that he would grow straight. Straight as an arrow, instead of round-shouldered and bent, as so many white children are allowed to take shape by careless or ignorant mothers. The close confinement in the cradle did not hurt him at all; but sometimes the one position grew irksome and the baby fretted. Then the mother would take him out of the cradle and let him roll naked on her couch until he tired and fell asleep, when back he would be put against the cradle-board.

When summer came again, Sinopah was a year old, and from that moon of his first birthday he spent less and less time in the cradle, and more and more time in creeping about on his mother's couch, or near her out on the clean, short grass. Then, along in the autumn, after many attempts, he toddled on uncertain legs from his mother's to his father's knee as the two sat a few feet apart in the lodge. That was a great day for White Wolf. Straightway he gave a feast and summoned all the relatives, that they too might see his young son walk. Uncles and aunts, they all loved the child and were proud of him; and his old gray-headed grandfather, Mik-sik-um, or Red Crane, was his almost constant companion as soon as he began to creep.

On this day the little fellow wore for the first time the suit of war-clothes his mother had been long in making. The clean, white, fringed buckskin shirt blazed with bright embroidery work, of dyed porcupine quills. The breech-clout of red cloth was held in place with a beaded belt. The fringed buckskin leggings were painted with small diagonal stripes of yellow and red ochre. The dainty little moccasins were embroidered with a solid mass of fine, glittering beads in the symbol of the sun. Very quaint and brave he looked in all his finery, and his infant mind and eyes were pleased with it all. He crowed and gurgled and laughed, and, with many a fall between, went from one to another of the admiring circle of guests.

Once he fell and struck his head against his father's tobacco-board. All present there held their breath, anxiously watching to see what he would do. But he did not cry: he sat up quickly, made a wry face, rubbed the bruised spot for a moment, then got up and lurched on to his mother's arms.

"Oh-ho-hai!" every one exclaimed, clapping hand to mouth; "he heeds not pain; he perseveres; he will become a great warrior."

"I give him a yellow pinto mare and a brown mare," cried an uncle. "White Wolf, come and get them out of my band to-morrow and put them with your herd."

Then up spoke one after another of the guests, each making a present of one or more animals. In a few minutes the little Sinopah became the owner of thirty-five good, young mares: "Oh-ho-hai!" the old grandfather quavered, joyfully smiling and rubbing his wrinkled hands together, "think of the colts that will be coming every spring. Before ever Sinopah is able to go to war, he will be rich."

Up to this time Sinopah had been bathed in tepid water in the lodge. His father now took him in hand and upon arising every morning carried him to the river for a quick dip in the cold water. It was cold, the autumn frosts having already begun, but, though the little fellow's tender flesh shrank from contact with it and he gasped, never a cry came from his firm-set lips. Day after day the weather grew