he moon, the _Kan-e-ti-dan_, [31]
The little, wizened, mysterious man,
With his long locks tossed by the moaning breeze.
Then a flap of wings, like a thunder-bird, [32]
And a wailing spirit the sleeper heard;
And lo, through the mists of the moon, she saw
The hateful visage of Harpstina.

But waking she murmured--"And what are these----
The flap of wings and the falling star,
The wailing spirit that's never at ease,
The little man crouching under the trees,
And the hateful visage of Harpstina?
My dreams are like feathers that float on the breeze,
And none can tell what the omens are----
Save the beautiful dream of my love afar
In the happy land of the tall _Hohe_----
My handsome hunter--my brave Chaske."

[Illustration: BUFFALO CHASE]

_"Ta-tanka! Ta-tanka!"_[33] the hunters cried,
With a joyous shout at the break of dawn
And darkly lined on the white hill-side,
A herd of bison went marching on
Through the drifted snow like a caravan.
Swift to their ponies the hunters sped,
And dashed away on the hurried chase.
The wild steeds scented the game ahead,
And sprang like hounds to the eager race.
But the brawny bulls in the swarthy van
Turned their polished horns on the charging foes
And reckless rider and fleet footman
Were held at bay in the drifted snows,
While the bellowing herd o'er the hilltops ran,
Like the frightened beasts of a caravan
On Sahara's sands when the simoon blows.
Sharp were the twangs of the hunters' bows,
And swift and humming the arrows sped,
Till ten huge bulls on the bloody snows
Lay pierced with arrows and dumb and dead.
But the chief with the flankers had gained the rear,
And flew on the trail of the flying herd.
The shouts of the riders rang loud and clear,
As their foaming steeds to the chase they spurred.
And now like the roar of an avalanche
Rolls the bellowing wrath of the maddened bulls
They charge on the riders and runners stanch,
And a dying steed in the snow drift rolls,
While the rider, flung to the frozen ground,
Escapes the horns by a panther's bound.
But the raging monsters are held at bay,
While the flankers dash on the swarthy rout:
With lance and arrow they slay and slay;
And the welkin rings to the gladsome shout----
To the loud _Ina's_ and the wild _Iho's_, [34]
And dark and dead, on the bloody snows,
Lie the swarthy heaps of the buffaloes.
All snug in the _teepee_ Wiwaste lay,
All wrapped in her robe, at the dawn of day,
All snug and warm from the wind and