Sky presented
himself. He went into the teepee and lighted his pipe, and then, seating
himself outside, began to smoke. He was, in truth, a sorry figure for a
bridegroom. Always repulsive in his looks, his present dress was not
calculated to improve him. He wore mourning for his enemy, whom he
had killed.

His face was painted perfectly black; nothing but the whites of his eyes
relieved the universal darkness. His blanket was torn and old--his hair
unbraided, and on the top of his head he wore a knot of swan's down.

Every mark of grief or respect he could have shown a dead brother, he
now assumed in honor of the man whom he had hated--whose life he had
destroyed--who had belonged to the hateful tribe which had ever been the
enemy of his nation.

He looked very important as he puffed away, now watching Harpstenah, who
appeared to be unconscious of his presence, now fixing his eyes on her
mother, who was busily employed mending mocassins.

Having finished smoking; he used a fan which was attached to the other
end of his pipe-stem. It was a very warm day, and the perspiration that
was bursting from his forehead mingled with the black paint and slowly
found its way down his face.

"Where is your husband?" at length he asked of the mother.

"He saw a deer fly past this morning," she replied, "and he has gone to
seek it, that I may dry it."

"Does he come back to-night?"

"He does; he said you were to give a medicine feast to-morrow, and that
he would be here."

Harpstenah knew well why the medicine feast was to be given. Cloudy Sky
could not, according to the laws of the Sioux, throw off his mourning,
until he had killed an enemy or given a medicine dance. She knew that he
wanted to wear a new blanket, and plait his hair, and paint his face a
more becoming color. But she knew his looks could not be improved, and
she went on cutting wood, as unconcernedly as if the old war chief were
her grandfather, instead of her affianced husband. He might gain the
good will of her parents, he might even propitiate the spirits of the
dead: She would take his life, surely as the senseless wood yielded to
the strength of the arm that was cleaving it.

"You will be at the feast too," said Cloudy Sky to the mother; "you have
always foretold truly. There is not a woman in the band who can tell
what is going to happen as well as you. There is no nation so great as
the Dahcotah," continued the medicine man, as he saw several idlers