s of rejoicing to those of their husbands and brothers.

The beautiful buckskin garments were hastily exchanged for ordinary
apparel. By dint of much wading, tugging, and rolling the carcass was
teased to the dry beach. There the body was securely anchored by the
paws to small trees, and the work of skinning and butchering began.

Not a shred was wasted. Whatever flesh would not be consumed within a
few days they cut into very thin strips and hung across poles to dry.
Scraps went to the dogs, who were for once well fed. Three of the older
squaws went to work with bone scrapers to tan the hide. In this season,
while the fur was not as long as it would be later, it was fine and new.
The other squaws pitched camp. No right-minded Indian would dream of
travelling further with such a feast in prospect.

While these things were preparing, the older men cleaned and washed the
bear's skull very carefully. Then they cut a tall pole, on the end of
which they fastened the skull, and finished by planting the whole affair
securely near the running water. When the skull should have remained
there for the space of twelve moons, the sacred spirit of the departed
beast would be appeased. For that reason Haukemah would not here leave
his customary hieroglyphic record when he should break camp. If an enemy
should happen along, he could do harm to Haukemah simply by overturning
the trophy, whereas an unidentified skull might belong to a friend, and
so would be let alone on the chance. For that reason, too, when they
broke camp the following day, the expert trailers took pains to
obliterate the more characteristic indications of their stay.

Now abruptly the weather changed. The sky became overcast with low, gray
clouds hurrying from the northwest. It grew cold. After a few hours of
indecision it began to rain, dashing the chill water in savage gusts.
Amidships in each canoe the household goods were protected carefully by
means of the wigwam covers, but the people themselves sat patiently,
exposed to the force of the storm. Water streamed from their hair, over
their high cheeks, to drip upon their already sodden clothing. The
buckskin of their moccasins sucked water like so many sponges. They
stepped indifferently in and out of the river,--for as to their legs,
necessarily much exposed, they could get no wetter--and it was very
cold. Whenever they landed the grass and bushes completed the soaking.
By night each and every member of the ban