gloomy, my grandmother reluctantly suggested that
the squirrel should be killed for food. Thereupon my little cousin
cried, and said:

"Why cannot we all die alike wanting? The squirrel's life is as dear to
him as ours to us," and clung to it. Fortunately, relief came in time to
save her pet.

Oesedah lived with us for a portion of the year, and as there were no
other girls in the family she played much alone, and had many imaginary
companions. At one time there was a small willow tree which she visited
regularly, holding long conversations, a part of which she would
afterward repeat to me. She said the willow tree was her husband, whom
some magic had compelled to take that form; but no grown person was ever
allowed to share her secret.

When I was about eight years old I had for a playmate the adopted son of
a Sioux, who was a white captive. This boy was quite a noted personage,
although he was then only about ten or eleven years of age. When I
first became acquainted with him we were on the upper Missouri river. I
learned from him that he had been taken on the plains, and that both of
his parents were killed.

He was at first sad and lonely, but soon found plenty of
consolation in his new home. The name of his adopted father was
"Keeps-the-Spotted-Ponies." He was known to have an unusual number of the
pretty calico ponies; indeed, he had a passion for accumulating property
in the shape of ponies, painted tents, decorated saddles and all sorts
of finery. He had lost his only son; but the little pale-face became the
adopted brother of two handsome young women, his daughters. This made
him quite popular among the young warriors. He was not slow to adopt the
Indian customs, and he acquired the Sioux language in a short time.

I well remember hearing of his first experience of war. He was not more
than sixteen when he joined a war-party against the Gros-Ventres and
Mandans. My uncle reported that he was very brave until he was wounded
in the ankle; then he begged with tears to be taken back to a safe
place. Fortunately for him, his adopted father came to the rescue, and
saved him at the risk of his own life. He was called the "pale-face
Indian." His hair grew very long and he lavished paint on his face and
hair so that no one might suspect that he was a white man.

One day this boy was playing a gambling game with one of the Sioux
warriors. He was an expert gambler, and won everything from the Indian.
At a certain