heads
beating the ground; their terrible eyes glared upon us even in death;
they rolled in the dust, for their strength was gone. We brought them to
the village for our women to prepare for us when we should need them. I
had eaten and was refreshed; and, tired as my limbs were, I could not
sleep at first, but at last the fire grew dim before my eyes, and
I slept.

"I stood on the prairie alone, in my dream, and the giant appeared
before me. So tall was he that the clouds seemed to float about his
head. I trembled at the sound of his voice, it was as if the angry winds
were loosed upon the earth.

"'The warriors of the Dahcotahs are turned women,' said he; 'that they
no longer dance in honor of the giant, nor sing his songs. Markeda is
not a coward, but let him tremble; he is not a child, but he may shed
tears if the anger of the giant comes upon him.'

"Glad was I when I woke from my dream--and now, lest I am punished for
my sins, I will make a sacrifice to the giant. Should I not fear him who
is so powerful? Can he not take the thunder in his hand and cast it to
the earth?

"The heart of the warrior should be brave when he dances to the giant.
My wigwam is ready, and the friends of the giant are ready also."

"Give me your mocassins," said the young wife of Markeda to old John;
"they are torn, and I will mend them. You have come from afar, and are
welcome. Sleep, and when you awake, you will find them beside you." As
she assisted him to take them off, the medicine man looked admiringly
into her face. "The young wife of Markeda is as beautiful as the white
flowers that spring up on the prairies. Her husband would mourn for her
if the giant should close her eyes. They are bright now, as the stars,
but death would dim them, should not the anger of the giant be
appeased."

The "Bounding Fawn" turned pale at the mention of the angry giant; she
sat down, without replying, to her work; wondering the while, if the
soul of her early love thought of her, now that it wandered in the
Spirit's land. It might be that he would love her again when they should
meet there. The sound of her child's voice, awakening out of sleep,
aroused her, and called to her mind who was its father.

"They tore me away from my lover, and made me come to the teepee of the
chief," was her bitter reflection. "Enah! that I cannot love the father
of my child."

She rose and left the teepee. "Where is the heaven of the Dahcotahs,"
she murmured, as