standing clear with heads up and manes flying, and then trooped down
through the sage. The shepherd-dogs, guardians of the flocks, barked him
a welcome, and the sheep bleated and the lambs pattered round him.

In the hogan by the warm, red fire his women baked his bread and cooked
his meat. And he satisfied his hunger. Then he took choice meat to the
hogan of a sick relative, and joined in the song and the dance and the
prayer that drove away the evil spirit of illness. Down in the valley,
in a sandy, sunny place, was his corn-field, and here he turned in the
water from the ditch, and worked awhile, and went his contented way.

He loved his people, his women, and his children. To his son he said:
"Be bold and brave. Grow like the pine. Work and ride and play that
you may be strong. Talk straight. Love your brother. Give half to your
friend. Honor your mother that you may honor your wife. Pray and listen
to your gods."

Then with his gun and his mustang he climbed the slope of the mountain.
He loved the solitude, but he was never alone. There were voices on the
wind and steps on his trail. The lofty pine, the lichened rock, the tiny
bluebell, the seared crag--all whispered their secrets. For him their
spirits spoke. In the morning light Old Stone Face, the mountain, was a
red god calling him to the chase. He was a brother of the eagle, at home
on the heights where the winds swept and the earth lay revealed below.

In the golden afternoon, with the warm sun on his back and the blue
canyon at his feet, he knew the joy of doing nothing. He did not need
rest, for he was never tired. The sage-sweet breath of the open was
thick in his nostrils, the silence that had so many whisperings was
all about him, the loneliness of the wild was his. His falcon eye saw
mustang and sheep, the puff of dust down on the cedar level, the Indian
riding on a distant ridge, the gray walls, and the blue clefts. Here was
home, still free, still wild, still untainted. He saw with the eyes of
his ancestors. He felt them around him. They had gone into the elements
from which their voices came on the wind. They were the watchers on his
trails.

At sunset he faced the west, and this was his prayer:

Great Spirit, God of my Fathers,
Keep my horses in the night.
Keep my sheep in the night.
Keep my family in the night.
Let me wake to the day.
Let me be