effected their retreat with considerable loss. Had Antelope returned
in due season, the charge would have been made before dawn, while the
people were yet asleep.

When the battle was over, the Rees, Mandans, and Gros Ventres gathered
their dead and wounded. The night was filled with mourning. Soon the sad
news was heralded throughout the camp that the beautiful daughter of the
Ree chief was among the missing. It was supposed that she must have been
captured while driving her ponies to water in the early morning. The
grief for her loss was mingled with horror, because of a fear that she
might suffer humiliation at the hands of the Sioux warriors, and among
the young men there were muttered threats that the Sioux would pay
dearly for this.

Though partially successful, the Sioux had lost many of their bravest
warriors, and none could tell what had happened to Antelope--he who had
been believed the favorite of the gods of war. It was suggested by some
envious ones that perhaps he had recognized the strongly entrenched
position of the three tribes, and believing the battle would be a
disastrous one, had set out for home without making his report. But this
supposition was not deemed credible. On the other hand, the idea was
entertained that he had reentered the village, was detected and slain;
and therefore the enemy was on the lookout when the attack was made.

"Hay, hay, hay, mechinkshe (Alas, alas, my son)!" was the sorrowful
cry with which his old father received the news. His head fell upon his
breast, and all the others groaned in sympathy.

The sunset sky was a blanket of beautiful painting. There were
camp-fires among the clouds in orange and scarlet, while some were black
as night. So the camp fairly glowed in celebration of its heroes; yet
there was deep grief in many families. When the evening meal had been
eaten and the people were sitting outside their lodges, a tall old
man, almost nude, appeared in the circle, riding a fine horse. He had
blackened his face, his hair was cut short, and the horse also had been
deprived of his flowing mane and tail. Both were in deep mourning, after
the fashion of the Sioux.

"Ho ho!" exclaimed many warriors as he passed them, singing in a hoarse,
guttural voice.

"Ugh, he sings a war-song!" remarked one.

"Yes, I am told that he will find his son's bones, or leave his own in
the country of the enemy!"

The rain had fallen incessantly for two days. The fleeing lovers