A WARRIOR'S DAUGHTER


In the afternoon shadow of a large tepee, with red-painted smoke lapels,
sat a warrior father with crossed shins. His head was so poised that his
eye swept easily the vast level land to the eastern horizon line.

He was the chieftain's bravest warrior. He had won by heroic deeds the
privilege of staking his wigwam within the great circle of tepees.

He was also one of the most generous gift givers to the toothless old
people. For this he was entitled to the red-painted smoke lapels on his
cone-shaped dwelling. He was proud of his honors. He never wearied of
rehearsing nightly his own brave deeds. Though by wigwam fires he prated
much of his high rank and widespread fame, his great joy was a wee
black-eyed daughter of eight sturdy winters. Thus as he sat upon the
soft grass, with his wife at his side, bent over her bead work, he was
singing a dance song, and beat lightly the rhythm with his slender
hands.

His shrewd eyes softened with pleasure as he watched the easy movements
of the small body dancing on the green before him.

Tusee is taking her first dancing lesson. Her tightly-braided hair
curves over both brown ears like a pair of crooked little horns which
glisten in the summer sun.