nce must be conferred by the
old men, and especially so if they have any spiritual significance; as
Sacred Cloud, Mysterious Night, Spirit Woman, and the like. Such a name
was sometimes borne by three generations, but each individual must prove
that he is worthy of it.

In the life of the Indian there was only one inevitable duty,--the duty
of prayer--the daily recognition of the Unseen and Eternal. His daily
devotions were more necessary to him than daily food. He wakes at
daybreak, puts on his moccasins and steps down to the water's edge. Here
he throws handfuls of clear, cold water into his face, or plunges in
bodily. After the bath, he stands erect before the advancing dawn,
facing the sun as it dances upon the horizon, and offers his unspoken
orison. His mate may precede or follow him in his devotions, but never
accompanies him. Each soul must meet the morning sun, the new, sweet
earth, and the Great Silence alone!

Whenever, in the course of the daily hunt, the red hunter comes upon a
scene that is strikingly beautiful or sublime--a black thundercloud with
the rainbow's glowing arch above the mountain; a white waterfall in
the heart of a green gorge; a vast prairie tinged with the blood-red of
sunset--he pauses for an instant in the attitude of worship. He sees no
need for setting apart one day in seven as a holy day, since to him all
days are God's.

Every act of his life is, in a very real sense, a religious act. He
recognizes the spirit in all creation, and believes that he draws from
it spiritual power. His respect for the immortal part of the animal, his
brother, often leads him so far as to lay out the body of his game in
state and decorate the head with symbolic paint or feathers. Then he
stands before it in the prayer attitude, holding up the filled pipe, in
token that he has freed with honor the spirit of his brother, whose body
his need compelled him to take to sustain his own life.

When food is taken, the woman murmurs a "grace" as she lowers the
kettle; an act so softly and unobtrusively performed that one who
does not know the custom usually fails to catch the whisper: "Spirit,
partake!" As her husband receives the bowl or plate, he likewise murmurs
his invocation to the spirit. When he becomes an old man, he loves to
make a notable effort to prove his gratitude. He cuts off the choicest
morsel of the meat and casts it into the fire--the purest and most
ethereal element.

The hospitality of the