edges. Chewing the dry stiff hair and buffalo-skin, my father's eyes
sought my hands. Upon seeing them empty, he cried out:

"My son, your soft heart will let me starve before you bring me meat!
Two hills eastward stand a herd of cattle. Yet you will see me die
before you bring me food!"

Leaving my mother lying with covered head upon her mat, I rushed out
into the night.

With a strange warmth in my heart and swiftness in my feet, I climbed
over the first hill, and soon the second one. The moonlight upon the
white country showed me a clear path to the white man's cattle. With my
hand upon the knife in my belt, I leaned heavily against the fence while
counting the herd.

Twenty in all I numbered. From among them I chose the best-fattened
creature. Leaping over the fence, I plunged my knife into it.

My long knife was sharp, and my hands, no more fearful and slow, slashed
off choice chunks of warm flesh. Bending under the meat I had taken for
my starving father, I hurried across the prairie.

Toward home I fairly ran with the life-giving food I carried upon my
back. Hardly had I climbed the second hill when I heard sounds coming
after me. Faster and faster I ran with my load for my father, but the
sounds were gaining upon me. I heard the clicking of snowshoes and the
squeaking of the leather straps at my heels; yet I did not turn to see
what pursued me, for I was intent upon reaching my father. Suddenly like
thunder an angry voice shouted curses and threats into my ear! A rough