the shadows stole away until the October moon
looked down on the great Indian camp--a hun-
dred lodges, each as perfect in design as the
tusks of a young silver-tip, and all looking
ghostly white in the still of the autumn night.

Back from the camp, keeping within the
ever-moving shadows, a buffalo-wolf skulked
to a hill overlooking the scene, where he stopped
to look and listen, his body silhouetted against
the sky. A dog howled occasionally, and the
weird sound of a tom-tom accompanying the
voice of a singer in the Indian village reached
the wolf's ears, but caused him no alarm; for
not until a great herd of ponies, under the eyes
of the night-herder, drifted too close, did he
steal away.

Near the centre of the camp was the big
painted lodge of War Eagle, the medicine-man,
and inside had gathered his grandchildren, to
whom he was telling the stories of the creation
and of the strange doings of Napa, the creator.
Being a friend of the old historian, I entered un-
hindered, and with the children listened until
the hour grew late, and on the lodge-wall the
dying fire made warning shadows dance.