od of the waters chases his enemies
back to the distant clouds."

Many times, too, will the daughters of the nation go into the pathless
prairies to weep; it is their custom; and while there is sickness, and
want, and death, so long will they leave the haunts of men to weep where
none but the Great Spirit may witness their tears. It is only, they
believe, in the City of spirits, that the sorrows of Dahcotah women will
cease--there, will their tears be dried forever.

Many winters have passed away since Harpstenah brought the dead body of
her husband to his native village to be buried; my authority is the
"medicine woman," whose lodge, for many years, was to be seen on the
banks of Lake Calhoun.

This village is now deserted. The remains of a few houses are to be
seen, and the broken ground in which were planted the poles of their
teepees. Silence reigns where the merry laugh of the villagers often
met in chorus. The scene of the feast and dance is now covered with long
grass, but "desolation saddens all its green."

CHAPTER I.

Dark and heavy clouds hung over the village of "Sleepy Eyes," one of the
chiefs of the Sioux. The thunder birds flapped their wings angrily as
they flew along, and where they hovered over the "Father of many
waters," the waves rose up, and heaved to and fro. Unktahe was eager to
fight against his ancient enemies; for as the storm spirits shrieked
wildly, the waters tossed above each other; the large forest trees were
uptorn from their roots, and fell over into the turbid waters, where
they lay powerless amid the scene of strife; and while the vivid
lightning pierced the darkness, peal after peal was echoed by the
neighboring hills.

One human figure was seen outside the many teepees that rose side by
side in the village. Sleepy Eyes alone dared to stand and gaze upon the
tempest which was triumphing over all the powers of nature. As the
lightning fell upon the tall form of the chief, he turned his keen
glance from the swift-flying clouds to the waters, where dwelt the god
whose anger he had ever been taught to fear. He longed, though
trembling, to see the countenance of the being whose appearance is the
sure warning of calamity. His superstitious fears told him to turn, lest
the deity should rise before him; while his native courage, and love of
the marvellous, chained him to the spot.

The storm raged wilder and louder--the driving wind scattered the hail
around him, and at length