The Little Missouri was in her spring fullness, and the hills amongwhich she found her way to the Great Muddy were profusely adorned with colors, much like those worn by the wild red man upon a holiday! Looking toward the sunrise, one saw mysteri- ous, deep shadows and bright prominences, while on the opposite side there was really an extravagant array of variegated hues. Between the gorgeous buttes and rainbow- tinted ridges there were narrow plains, broken here and there by dry creeks or gulches, and these again were clothed scantily with poplars and sad- colored bull-berry bushes, while the bare spots were pur- ple with the wild Dakota crocuses.
Upon the lowest of a series of natural ter- races there stood on this May morning a young Sioux girl, whose graceful movements were not unlike those of a doe which chanced to be lurk- ing in a neighboring gulch. On the upper plains, not far away, were her young companions, all busily employed with the wewoptay, as it was called--the sharp-pointed stick with which the Sioux women dig wild turnips. They were gayly gossiping together, or each humming a love-song as she worked, only Snana stood some- what apart from the rest; in fact, concealed by the crest of the ridge.
She had paused in her digging and stood fac- ing the sun-kissed buttes. Above them in the clear blue sky the father sun was traveling up- ward as in haste, while to her receptive spirit there appealed an awful, unknown force, the silent speech of the Great Mystery, to which it seemed to her the whole world must be listen- ing!
"O Great Mystery! the father of earthly things is coming to quicken us into life. Have pity on me, I pray thee! May I some day be- come the mother of a great and brave race of warriors!" So the maiden prayed silently. It was now full-born day. The sun shone hot upon the bare ground, and the drops stood upon Snana's forehead as she plied her long pole. There was a cool spring in the dry creek bed near by, well hidden by a clump of choke- cherry bushes, and she turned thither to cool her thirsty throat. In the depths of the ravine her eye caught a familiar footprint--the track of a doe with the young fawn beside it. The hunting instinct arose within.
"It will be a great feat if I can find and take from her the babe.Thelittle tawny skin shall be beautifully dressed by my mother. The legs and the nose shall be embossed with porcupine quills. It will be my work- bag," she said to herself.
As she stole forward on the fresh trail she scanned every nook, every clump of bushes. There was a sudden rustle from within a grove of wild plum trees, thickly festooned with grape and clematis, and the doe mother bounded away as carelessly as if she were never to return.
Ah, a mother's ruse! Snana entered the thorny enclosure, which was almost a rude tee- pee, and, tucked away in the furthermost corner, lay something with a trout-like, speckled, tawny coat. She bent over it. The fawn was appar- ently sleeping.Presently its eyes moved a bit, and a shiver passed through its subtle body.
"Thou shalt not die; thy skin shall not be- come my work-bag!" unconsciously the maiden spoke. The mother sympathy had taken hold on her mind. She picked the fawn up tenderly, bound its legs, and put it on her back to carry like an Indian babe in the folds of her robe.
"I cannot leave you alone, Tachinchala. Your mother is not here. Our hunters will soon return by this road, and your mother has left behind her two plain tracks leading to this thicket," she murmured.
The wild creature struggled vigorously for a minute, and then became quiet. Its graceful head protruded from the elkskin robe just over Snana's shoulder. She was slowly climbing the slope with her burden, when suddenly like an apparition the doe-mother stood before her. The fawn called loudly when it was first seized, and the mother was not too far away to hear. Now she called frantically for her child, at the same time stamping with her delicate fore-feet.
"Yes, sister, you are right; she is yours; but you cannot save her to-day! The hunters will soon be here. Let me keep her for you; I will return her to you safely. And hear me, O sis- ter of the woods, that some day I may become the mother of a noble race of warriors and of fine women, as handsome as you are!"At this moment the quick eyes of the Indian girl detected something strange in the doe's actions. She glanced in every direction and be- hold! a grizzly bear was cautiously approach- ing the group from a considerabledistance.
"Run, run, sister! I shall save your child if I can," she cried, and flew for the nearest scrub oak on the edge of the bank. Up the tree she scrambled, with the fawn still securely bound to her back. The grizzly came on with teeth ex- posed, and the doe-mother in her flight came between him and the tree, giving a series of indignant snorts as she ran, and so distracted Mato from his object of attack; but only for a few seconds--then on he came!
"Desist, O brave Mato! It does not become a great medicine-man to attack a helpless woman with a burden upon her back!"Snana spoke as if the huge brute could un- derstand her, and indeed the Indians hold that wild animals understand intuitively when ap- pealed to by human beings in distress. Yet he replied only with a hoarse growl, as rising upon his hind legs he shook the little tree vigorously.
"Ye, ye, heyupi ye!" Snana called loudly to her companion turnip- diggers. Her cry soon brought all the women into sight upon a near-by ridge, and they immediately gave a general alarm. Mato saw them, but appeared not at all concerned and was still intent upon dislodg- ing the girl, who clung frantically to her perch.
