About the middle of the night I said to my friend, "Let us stop here, so
that the horses may eat." We stopped and took off our saddles, and held the
ropes of our horses in our hands, and lay down on the ground together,
looking back over the trail that we had come. My friend's horse was eating,
but mine stood with his head high, and his ears pricked, and kept looking
back toward where we had come from. Every now and then he would snort, as
if frightened. Sometimes he would take a bite or two of grass, and then
would again stand with his head up, looking and snorting. This made me more
afraid than ever; and now my friend was as badly frightened as I.

At last I could stand it no longer, and I said to him, "Let us turn off the
trail, and go along a divide where no one is likely to follow us." We
started, loping. After we had gone some distance we stopped, took off our
bridles, and again lay down, looking back over the way we had come. The
night was dark, but we could see a little, and we watched and listened.
Still my horse would not eat, but kept looking back over the trail.
Suddenly, my friend said, "There he is. Do you see?" I looked, and looked,
but could see nothing. "Where is it?" said I. With my head close to the
ground I looked in the direction in which he pointed, but could see
nothing. My friend saw it move, however. I said to him, "Here, let us
change places;" and I moved to his place, and he to mine. Then I looked,
and in a moment I saw just in front of my face a weed-stalk, and when I
moved my head the stalk moved. This was what he had seen.

For the first time since this feeling had come over me in the afternoon I
laughed, and with a rush my courage came back to me. I felt as brave and
cheerful as ever. All through the evening I had not wished to smoke, and if
I had wished to, I should have been afraid to light my pipe. Now I filled
my pipe, lighted it, and we smoked. When I laughed my friend's courage came
back too. We lay down and slept, and the next day went on to the village.

_A Sacrifice._

During the next two years I went to war five times, always as a servant,
but always I had good luck. This was because early, after my first trip to
war, I had asked an old man, one of my relations, to teach me how to make a
sacrifice which should be pleasing to those spirits who rule the world.

It was in the early summer, when the grass was high and green, not yet
turning brown, that, with this old man, T