so that the clerks will
not get him mixed with an Indian whose name is similar."

So the reading went on, and after each name the clerk said "one" or
"two," meaning that the owner of the name was entitled to one or two
cows, according to the number of members of his family.

"Running Bear!" called the clerk.

There was no answer.

"Running Bear! Where is Running Bear?" The clerk looked around
anxiously, for Running Bear was a prominent Indian, and was entitled to
three cows, or as many as he could graft, and was never known to miss a
beef issue. There were murmurs of wonder among the Indians at the
absence of Running Bear, and the clerk was about to mark off his name,
when he staggered out of the agent's house, groggy from the punishment
he had received, with one eye a vivid green, and holding on to his jaw
as if he was afraid of losing it.

"Ah, there you are, Running Bear," said the clerk. "You look as if you
had collided with a streak of lightning. What's the matter?"

But the Indian only shook his head and pressed his jaw harder.

"Reckon you've got the toothache, eh? Well, when you get your teeth
fastened into a piece of fresh bull meat you'll be all right."

Running Bear gave one look, in which all the concentrated hatred of a
lifetime was to be seen. Then he turned away and went out to his tepee,
where one of his squaws bound his jaw in a wet cloth.

But the roll had been called, and the Indians stood expectant close to
the gate of the corral.

While the clerk stood up on the fence with his list he repeated the
names and the number of cattle to which each Indian was entitled, and
men inside the corral opened the gate and drove them out.

As a frightened cow or angry steer was loosed from the corral it was met
with shouts, wild and blood-curdling, from all the Indians, and its
owner sprang upon his pony and took after the poor beast, driving it
into the open beyond, and away from the house and corral.

"Now begins the chase," said Ted. "We'll get out here where we will have
a good view, but I don't think you will care to see much of it. It gets
to be pretty--well, pretty raw after a while."

"Why don't they kill their beef in a slaughterhouse and give them the
meat, instead of turning the animals over to them alive?" asked Stella.

"The Indians wouldn't stand for that," answered Ted. "This is the only
sport they have in a year's time. You see, they are not permitted to
leave the reservations to go