patience with the writers who regarded the Indian as a wild beast, I
based my interpretation on the experiences of men like Stouch and Seger
who, by twenty years' experience, had proved the red man's fine
qualities. As leading actors in the great tragedy of Western settlement
I resolved to present the Ogallallah and the Ute as I saw them.

At one of these informal councils between the Agent and some of the
Cheyenne headmen, I caught a phrase which gave me the title of a story
and at the same time pointed the moral of a volume of short stories.
White Shield, one of John Seger's friends, in telling of his
experiences, sadly remarked, "I find it hard to make a home among the
white men."

Instantly my mind grasped the reverse side of the problem. I took for
the title of my story these words: _White Eagle, the Red Pioneer_, and
presented the point of view of a nomad who turns his back on the
wilderness which he loves, and sets himself the task of leading his band
in settlement among the plowmen. In a collection of tales, some of which
have not been published even in magazines, I have grouped studies of red
individuals with intent to show that a village of Cheyennes has many
kinds of people just like any other village. "Hippy, the Dare Devil,"
"White Weasel, the Dandy," "Rising Wolf, the Ghost Dancer," are some of
the titles in this volume. Whether it will get itself printed in my
lifetime or not is a problem, for publishers are loath to issue a book
of short stories, any kind of short stories. "Stories about Indians are
no longer in demand," they say. Nevertheless, some day I hope these
stories may get into print as a volume complementary to _Main Traveled
Roads_, and _They of the High Trails_.

Among the most unforgettable of all our Oklahoma experiences was a
dinner which we had with the Jesuit Missionary priest at "Chickashay" on
the last day of our stay. It had been raining in torrents for several
hours, and as the Mission was four miles out I would have despaired of
getting there at all had it not been for the Agency Clerk who was a man
of resource and used to Oklahoma "showers." Commandeering for us the
Agency "hack," a kind of canvas-covered delivery wagon, he succeeded in
reaching the priest's house without shipwreck, although the road was a
river.

The priest, a short, jolly Alsatian, met us with shining face quite
unlike any other missionary I had ever seen. He was at once a delight
and an astonishment to Zulim