crawled upward between the bases of little hillocks. Deep water-worn
ditches ran parallel on either side. A strong wind blew against my
cheeks and fluttered my sleeves. The pony reached the top of the highest
hill, and began an even race on the level lands. There was nothing
moving within that great circular horizon of the Dakota prairies save
the tall grasses, over which the wind blew and rolled off in long,
shadowy waves.

Within this vast wigwam of blue and green I rode reckless and
insignificant. It satisfied my small consciousness to see the white foam
fly from the pony's mouth.

Suddenly, out of the earth a coyote came forth at a swinging trot that
was taking the cunning thief toward the hills and the village beyond.
Upon the moment's impulse, I gave him a long chase and a wholesome
fright. As I turned away to go back to the village, the wolf sank down
upon his haunches for rest, for it was a hot summer day; and as I drove
slowly homeward, I saw his sharp nose still pointed at me, until I
vanished below the margin of the hilltops.

In a little while I came in sight of my mother's house. Dawée stood in
the yard, laughing at an old warrior who was pointing his forefinger,
and again waving his whole hand, toward the hills. With his blanket
drawn over one shoulder, he talked and motioned excitedly. Dawée turned
the old man by the shoulder and pointed me out to him.

"Oh, han!" (Oh, yes) the warrior muttered, and went his way. He had
climbed the top of his favorite barren hill to survey the surrounding
prairies, when he spied my chase after the coyote. His keen eyes
recognized the pony and driver. At once uneasy for my safety, he had