lothes were black with the hair of his enemies, as he often boasted,
and it required four boys to herd his ponies. His gun was reddened, and
there were twenty-four painted pipes on his shield indicative of
the numbers who had gone down before him in war. In the time of the
ceremonies, his chief's war-bonnet dragged on the ground and was bright
with the painted feathers which belonged to a victor. He hated the
Yellow-Eyes, not going often to their posts for trade, and like a true
Indian warrior he despised a beaver trap. It was conceded by old men
that time would take the Fire Eater near to the head chieftainship,
while at all times the young men were ready to follow him to the camp of
the foe.

One day in the time of the Yellow-grass the Fire Eater had sat for
hours, without moving, beside his tepee, looking vacantly out across the
hills and speaking to no human being. His good squaws and even his much
cherished children went about the camping-space quietly, not caring to
disturb the master. He was tired of the lazy sunshine of home; the small
cackle of his women, one to another, annoyed him; he was strong with the
gluttony of the kettle which was ever boiling; the longing for fierce
action and the blood-thirst had taken possession of him. Many times he
reached up with his hand to the crown of his head and patted the skin of
the little brown bat, which was his medicine. This constantly talked to
him in his brown study, saying: "Look--look at the war-ponies--the big
dogs are fat and kick at each other as they stand on the lariats. They
are saying you are too old for them; they are saying that the Fire Eater
will ride on a travvis. They think that the red hands will no more be
painted on their flanks."

But the warrior, still with his sleepy dog-stare fixed on the vacant
distance, answered the bat-skin: "We will seek the help of the Good Gods
to-night; we will see if the path is clear before us. My shadow is very
black beside me here--I am strong." Thus the Indian and his medicine
easily agreed with each other in these spiritual conversations--which
thing gave the Fire Eater added respect for the keeper of his body and
his shadow-self.

Far into the night the preoccupied Indian leaned against his resting-mat
watching the little flames leaping from the split sticks as his youngest
squaw laid them on the fire. The flickering yellows sang to him:

"The fire does not sit still,
The fire does not sit still--
Come, b