and then betook himself to a
respectful distance. Chatanna had two big tears gradually swamping his
long, black eye-lashes; and I thought it was time to hide my face, for I
did not want him to look at me.

IV. Hakadah's First Offering

"HAKADAH, coowah!" was the sonorous call that came from a large teepee
in the midst of the Indian encampment. In answer to the summons there
emerged from the woods, which were only a few steps away, a boy,
accompanied by a splendid black dog. There was little in the appearance
of the little fellow to distinguish him from the other Sioux boys.

He hastened to the tent from which he had been summoned, carrying in
his hands a bow and arrows gorgeously painted, while the small birds and
squirrels that he had killed with these weapons dangled from his belt.

Within the tent sat two old women, one on each side of the fire.
Uncheedah was the boy's grandmother, who had brought up the motherless
child. Wahchewin was only a caller, but she had been invited to remain
and assist in the first personal offering of Hakadah to the "Great
Mystery."

This was a matter which had, for several days, pretty much monopolized
Uncheedah's mind. It was her custom to see to this when each of her
children attained the age of eight summers. They had all been celebrated
as warriors and hunters among their tribe, and she had not hesitated to
claim for herself a good share of the honors they had achieved, because
she had brought them early to the notice of the "Great Mystery."

She believed that her influence had helped to regulate and develop the
characters of her sons to the height of savage nobility and strength of
manhood.

It had been whispered through the teepee village that Uncheedah intended
to give a feast in honor of her grandchild's first sacrificial offering.
This was mere speculation, however, for the clearsighted old woman had
determined to keep this part of the matter secret until the offering
should be completed, believing that the "Great Mystery" should be met in
silence and dignity.

The boy came rushing into the lodge, followed by his dog Ohitika who was
wagging his tail promiscuously, as if to say: "Master and I are really
hunters!"

Hakadah breathlessly gave a descriptive narrative of the killing of each
bird and squirrel as he pulled them off his belt and threw them before
his grandmother.

"This blunt-headed arrow," said he, "actually had eyes this morning.
Before the squirrel