She left the teepee--her work was done. It was easy to wash the stains on her knife in the waters of the lake. When her mother arose, she looked at the pale countenance of her daughter. In vain she sought to understand her muttered words. Harpstenah, as she tried to sleep, fancied she heard the wild laugh of the water spirits. Clouds had obscured the moon, and distant thunder rolled along the sky; and, roused by the clamorous grief of the many women assembled in the lodge, she heard from them of the dark tragedy in which she had been the principal actor. The murderer was not to be found. Red Deer was known to be far away. It only remained to bury Cloudy Sky, with all the honors due to a medicine man. Harpstenah joined in the weeping of the mourners--the fountains of a Sioux woman's tears are easily unlocked. She threw her blanket upon the dead body. Many were the rich presents made to the inanimate clay which yesterday influenced those who still trembled lest the spirit of the dead war-chief would haunt them. The richest cloth enrobed his body, and, a short distance from the village, he was placed upon a scaffold. Food was placed beside him; it would be long before his soul would reach the city of spirits; his strength would fail him, were it not for the refreshment of the tender flesh of the wild deer he had loved to chase, and the cooling waters he had drank on earth, for many, many winters. But after the death of Cloudy Sky, the heart of Harpstenah grew light. She joined again in the ball plays on the prairies. It needed no vermilion on her cheek to show the brightness of her eye, for the flush of hope and happiness was there. The dark deed was forgotten; and when, in the time that the leaves began to fall, they prepared the wild rice for winter's use, Red Deer was at her side. He was a good hunter, and the parents were old. Red Deer ever kept them supplied with game--and winter found her a wife, and a happy one too; for Red Deer loved her in very truth--and the secret of the death of the medicine man was buried in their hearts. CHAPTER VI. Ten years had passed away since their marriage, and Red Deer had never brought another wife to his teepee. Harpstenah was without a rival in his affections, if we except the three strong boys who were growing up beside them. Chaskè (the oldest son) could hunt for his mother, and it was well that he could, for his father's strength was gone. Consumption wasted his limbs, and the once powerful arm could not now support his drooping head.