good arrow," said Shunkaska, or White Dog, the husband of Weeko. At his
wife's answer, he opened his eyes in surprised displeasure.

"No, she shall have her own pack again. She wants her twins. I ought
never to have taken them from her!"

Weeko approached Nakpa as she stood alone and unfriended in the face of
her little world, all of whom considered that she had committed the
unpardonable sin. As for her, she evidently felt that her misfortunes
had not been of her own making. She gave a hesitating, sidelong look at
her mistress.

"Nakpa, you should not have acted so. I knew you were stronger than the
others, therefore I gave you that load," said Weeko in a conciliatory
tone, and patted her on the nose. "Come, now, you shall have your own
pet pack," and she led her back to where the young pony stood silently
with the babies.

Nakpa threw back her ears and cast savage looks at him, while
Shunkaska, with no small annoyance, gathered together as much as he
could of their scattered household effects. The sleeping brown-skinned
babies in their chrysalis-like hoods were gently lowered from the
pony's back and attached securely to Nakpa's padded wooden saddle. The
family pots and kettles were divided among the pack-ponies. Order was
restored and the village once more in motion.

"Come now, Nakpa; you have your wish. You must take good care of my
babies. Be good, because I have trusted you," murmured the young mother
in her softest tones.

"Really, Weeko, you have some common ground with Nakpa, for you both
always want to have your own way, and stick to it, too! I tell you, I
fear this Long Ears. She is not to be trusted with babies," remarked
Shunkaska, with a good deal of severity.

But his wife made no reply, for she well knew that though he might
criticize, he would not actually interfere with her domestic
arrangements.

He now started ahead to join the men in advance of the slow-moving
procession, thus leaving her in undivided charge of her household. One
or two of the pack ponies were not well trained and required all her
attention. Nakpa had been a faithful servant until her escapade of the
morning, and she was now obviously satisfied with her mistress'
arrangements. She walked alongside with her lariat dragging, and
perfectly free to do as she pleased.

Some hours later, the party ascended a slope from the river bottom to
cross over the divide which lay between the Powder River and a
tributary stream. The f