ny thing so beautiful, not even the sun, the
clouds, or the stars.

[Footnote A: The North Star, in their beautiful, poetical language, "the
star which never moves," and "The Hunter's Star."]

The Mad Buffalo said to the council, "This is my prisoner. I fought hard
for her. Three warriors, tall, strong, and painted, three pale men
armed with the red lightning, stood at her side. Where are they now? I
bore her away in my arms, for fear had overcome her; and, when night
came on, I wrapped skins around her, and laid over her the leafy
branches of the tree to keep off the cold, and kindled a fire, and
watched by her till the sun rose; for I love her. Who will say that she
shall not live with the Mad Buffalo, and be the mother of his children?"

Then the Old Eagle got up, but he could not walk strong, for he was the
oldest warrior of his tribe, and had seen the flowers bloom many times,
and the infant trees of the forest die of old age, and the friends of
his boyhood laid in the dust. He went to the woman, and laid his hands
on her head, and wept(8). The other warriors, who had lost their kindred
and sons in the war with the Walkullas, did the same, shouting and
weeping very loud. The women also wept, but they did not come near the
prisoner.

"Where is the Young Eagle?" asked the Old Eagle of the Mad Buffalo. The
other warriors, in like manner, asked for their kindred who had been
killed.

"Fathers, they are dead," answered the head warrior. "The Mad Buffalo
has said they are dead, and he never lies. But let my fathers take
comfort. Who can live for ever? The foot of the swift step, and the
hand of the stout bow, become feeble; the eye of the true aim grows dim,
and the heart of many days quails at the fierce glance of warriors.
'Twas better that they should die like brave men in their youth, than
become old men and grow faint."

"We must have revenge. We will not listen to the young warrior, who
pines for the daughter of the sun[A]; revenge we will have!" they all
cried. Then they began to sing a very mournful song, still weeping. The
Mad Buffalo offered them the pipe of peace, but they would not take it.

[Footnote A: "Daughter of the Sun."--See the Tradition _infra_.]

Song.

Where are our sons,
Who went to drink the blood of their foes?
Who went forth to war and slaughter,
Armed with tough bows and sharp arrows?
Who carried long spears, and were nimble of foot
As the swift buck, and