I shut my eyes. I can not see him fall.

"A loud shout goes up from the hoarse throats of men and women. I look.
So! The wild horse is conquered. My lover dismounts at the doorway of
the centre wigwam. The pony, wet with sweat and shaking with exhaustion,
stands like a guilty dog at his master's side. Here at the entranceway
of the tepee sit the bereaved father, mother, and sister. The old
warrior father rises. Stepping forward two long strides, he grasps the
hand of the murderer of his only son. Holding it so the people can see,
he cries, with compassionate voice, 'My son!' A murmur of surprise
sweeps like a puff of sudden wind along the lines.

"The mother, with swollen eyes, with her hair cut square with her
shoulders, now rises. Hurrying to the young man, she takes his right
hand. 'My son!' she greets him. But on the second word her voice shook,
and she turned away in sobs.

"The young people rivet their eyes upon the young woman. She does not
stir. With bowed head, she sits motionless. The old warrior speaks to
her. 'Shake hands with the young brave, my little daughter. He was your
brother's friend for many years. Now he must be both friend and brother
to you,'

"Hereupon the girl rises. Slowly reaching out her slender hand, she
cries, with twitching lips, 'My brother!' The trial ends."

"Grandmother!" exploded the girl on the bed of sweet-grass. "Is this
true?"

"Tosh!" answered the grandmother, with a warmth in her voice. "It is all