bronze-faced tamer of horses in that gargling is,
to him, an unknown and hence an incomprehensible practice. The master
also advised Prosper to keep the gloves for, if I listened, he would
indubitably need them later.

Prosper is a hardily-built man with admirable shoulders and a bearing
like Thunder Cloud, the American Indian who was the model for Mr. G. A.
Reid's picture entitled "The Coming of the White Man." Also, Prosper
is daringly ugly. When I tell him I am already married, he says, "You
need not go back. Your man can find many women by the great
Saskatchewan River."

It may interest the curious to know that Prosper ultimately sold me the
gauntlets for my man, and put away the money with an imperturbable
serenity worthy the receiving-teller of a western bank.

... The sports were inaugurated by the slaughter of an ox for the
benefit of the treaty Indians. It is foolish to shudder when we see
the throat of a bullock cut. When a bird dips its long bill into the
chalice of a flower it is doing precisely the same act.

The heart of this bullock was fat, so that good fortune abides with the
tribe. A lean heart is always unlucky. Once Ba'tiste killed an animal
that had hairs on its heart, and Holy Mother! Holy Mother! that winter
he trapped a silver-fox.

The white men played a game of baseball which would have given cause
for thought to those impersonal pawns known as professionals; it was so
very original. But, after all, baseball is only cricket gone
hysterical, and perhaps the game may be further evolved under the
aurora. Some one must take the onus of initiative. Originally the
game was very primitive and I have heard tell, or I may have read, that
it was really a baseball club which Samson used to kill the Philistines.

The results of the horse races are not posted, a fact which tends to a
democratic spirit. If you want to see the start or the finish you must
bunch with the crowd at the post. This also enables you to learn how
wonderfully an excited Cree can vociferate: there is no other place in
the world where a more efficient instruction can be had. And when
words fail him, Sir Hotspur says: "Uh-huh!" and makes other sounds in
his teeth like a flame when it leaps through dry rushes.

The mysteries of straight, place, and show are not probed here and no
Indian throws a race. The best horse always wins. The Cree jockey
rides bareback and beats his horse from the start. This, they tell m