at twilight.

"Come," said the old bull, "we must be moving."

"But what is that?" said Dorcas Jane, as a new sound came from the
direction of the river, a long chant stretching itself like a snake
across the prairie, and as they listened there were words that lifted
and fell with an odd little pony joggle.

"That is the Pawnees, singing their travel song," said the Buffalo
Chief.

And as he spoke they could see the eagle bonnets of the tribesmen coming
up the hollow, every man mounted, with his round shield and the point of
his lance tilted forward. After them came the women on the pack-ponies
with the goods, and the children stowed on the travoises of lodge-poles
that trailed from the ponies' withers.

"Ha-ah," said the old bull. "One has laid his ear to the ground in their
lodges and has heard the earth tremble with the passing of the
Buffalo People."

"But where do they go?" said Dorcas.

"They follow the herds," said the old bull, "for the herds are their
food and their clothes and their housing. It is the Way Things Are that
the Buffalo People should make the trails and men should ride in them.
They go up along the watersheds where the floods cannot mire, where the
snow is lightest, and there are the best lookouts."