eir heads. It is bad."

"Yes, you talk straight. It is bad for the pony-trails to show below
where the land breaks. Some dog of an Absaroke who follows the Grey Fox
may see them. Ponies do not go to live in the hills in the time of snow.
The ponies will not travel straight, as the herders drive them back.
They will understand. With another sun, I shall call the council. It
will talk the herders' eyes open. The young men have closed ears in
these days. The cold makes their bones stiff. Brother, when we were
young we could see a horse pass in the night. We could smell him. We
could tell if he had a man on his back."

Big Hand gave wise consideration to his companion's statement, saying
it was as he spoke. "Brother, those big horses which we took from the
pony-soldiers run badly in the herd. They gather in a bunch and run
fast. They go over the herders when they see the valley. They will do
nothing unless you strike them over the head. They are fools like their
white riders were."

So the old men gravely passed the pipe over the little things of life,
which to them bore all their interest in the world. The squaw combed her
hair and from time to time put fresh sticks on the fire. After a while
the boy woke up and stretched himself cubbishly across his father's
knees. The ancient one gave him a piece of fresh meat, which he held in
both hands as he gnawed it, smearing his chubby face with grease. Having
devoured his morsel he blinked sleepily, and the old Indian tucked him
away in the warm recesses of his old buffalo-robe couch, quite naked,
as it was their custom to sleep during the winter nights. Long sat the
smokers, turning their tongues over youthful remembrances, until Big
Hand arose and drawing his robe about him, left the lodge.

The Fire Eater removed the small buckskin bag which contained his little
brown bat's skin from his scalp-lock and smoked to it saying: "Keep the
big horses from running down the canyon--keep the eyes of the herders
open while I sleep--keep the little boy warm--keep the bad spirits
outside the lodge after the fire can no longer see them." With these
devotions concluded, he put the relic of the protection of the Good Gods
in his war-bag which hung on his resting-mat over his head. Undressing,
he buried himself in his buffalo robes. The fire died down, the tom-toms
and singing in the adjoining lodges quieted gradually, and the camp
slept. All was still, and it was bitter cold outside, though